The Trevelyans
by dominicgrim
Summary: Nicholai Trevelyan and Natalya Song's stories collected. Violence and adult themes later. Cassandra/ Trevelyan pairing. Rated teen, but might go up later. I do not own dragon age.
1. The Leader

**A/N: I had a request to put Nicholai Trevelyan and Natalya Song's stories into a single volume. I have decided to do just that. If you have been reading A Price of a Song, and Trevelyan in my Grim Tales, those chapters will be included here as well. Since writing the first Song story, I've come too really like the characters, I hope you will like them as well, plus the new stuff I come up with, well without further nattering on from me, here we go.**

 **The Trevelyans**

 **Chapter 1: The Leader**

 _The Mage Rebellion._

That was how some people described what had happened after the events of the White Spire. The failed arrest of the First Enchanters of the Circles of Thedas, and their escape afterwards, followed days later by the open declaration of war against the Templar order. These events finally unleased the firestorm, a storm that had begun four years earlier with the destruction of the Kirkwall Chantry.

For the mages, it was the first step on their road to glorious liberation, after being caged for so long they would finally be able to take their place in the world. A new dawn was coming, the dawn of the age of the free mages. They would finally be able to right the wrongs and enter a new era of strength and prosperity.

At least…that is what the Libertarians said.

Nicholai Trevelyan, Senior Enchanter of the Circle of Ostwick was not so sure, especially after the last day's events.

Tall, fit, and slender, he did not fit the stereotype of a senior enchanter. Most thought senior mages were all funny little men with long white beards. Trevelyan was a handsome man, shoulder length blond hair with a strong jaw and piercing green eyes, his clever manner and roguish charms had sent many a noble girl's heart a flutter in the Teyrn's court, and had he not been born with magic, he would have had no trouble finding a noble wife. Taken to the circle at the age of eleven, he had spent much of his life in Ostwick Circle and had excelled there. He likely would have been elected First Enchanter when the position became open, but now…there was little chance of that.

The Circles were no more, and if the Templars had their way, the mages would be joining them shortly.

He looked out over his fellows, many were dirty and starving. They had been on the run for days, ever since word of what had happened in the White Spire reached Ostwick. Fighting had broken out almost immediately. Whether it was the Templars or the mages who started it neither side could say. Had the Libertarians decided to strike before the Templars got word to annul the circle, or had the Templars acted; fearing an open uprising, that the mages would sweep the tower clean of their number.

The fighting had begun, and there had been death on both sides, and no one could say how it started…

Typical.

Whatever had happened, the results were the same, the circle was burning, and the mages were on the run, more than a few of them lay wounded, tended to by whatever healers had accompanied them. Some of these would recover, but more than a few would die here, bloody and cleaved from their wounds.

The Enchanter shook his head.

 _A glorious liberation_? He thought bitterly.

 _Yeah…right._

More than a few of his fellows sat quietly at the edge of their camp, their eyes empty staring into the darkness, likely wondering how it had all come to this. The Circle in Ostwick had not been perfect, not by a longshot, but at the same time it had not been a prison. Mages had had contact with their families, they were allowed to speak at the Teyrn's court, and though Templar justice could be harsh at times, it had been nowhere near as bad as it had been in Kirkwall under the late Knight-Commander Meredith.

Trevelyan frowned, he had had friends in Kirkwall, people he had met many times at the college in Cumberland. Many had died when the Circle had been annulled, and what had come later…

He shook his head.

Kirkwall had been the spark, now they were all caught in an inferno.

An inferno that would likely claim them all.

There were only fifty of them now, and of those fifty, only a good third of those could fight. The bulk of those travelling with them were apprentices, children who had been caught in the crossfire, and the bulk of them did not know enough to use magic in a fight, not successfully anyway. Most of those that Trevelyan would have turned to in a fight had died fleeing the circle, engaging the Templars who had attempted to stop them, that or in their desperation, they had turned to demons and became abominations, further adding to the chaos.

The mage frowned.

Even now the memories of the escaped haunted him. Senior Enchanter Lydia, his mentor had been left in charge when the First Enchanter had journeyed to the White Spire in Orlais. Lydia had been something of a surrogate mother to him since his first days in the circle. When his family had turned away from him, it was she that had kept him from falling into despair; it was she that reminded him of who he was, and why he needed to succeed in the Circle.

Lydia had been one of the first to die. She had been trying to organize some of the mages for the escape; one of the younger of their number had panicked when a group of Templars had come storming in. The boy had given into rage, and become an abomination. He had slaughtered everyone, not just the Templars but the mages as well. Trevelyan had found the creature howling with savage glee over the bodies of both his enemies and his one-time allies.

Trevelyan had destroyed the beast. He would have recovered Lydia's body for a proper burning but there had been no time…the mages had barely escaped the circle with their lives, the few that had anyway.

Most of the circle had scattered after that. The ones that had stayed with him and his fellows were likely the largest group remaining, made up of a collection of tranquil, apprentices, Lucrosians, Loyalists and Aequitarians.

Trevelyan himself was an Aequitarian, though he had spent much of his time working with mages in the Lucrosian fraternity. Business and politics were close cousins, his father would say. He had believed in chantry law, just as Lydia had, but unlike her he had been willing to speak out when Templars chose to ignore it, or break in the name of what they felt was righteous justice. Ostwick might not have been Kirkwall, but there had been several incidents involving overzealous Templar recruits, recruits who had gotten off too easy when it came to punishment if you asked him.

The Knight-Commander had no doubt come to hate Trevelyan's visits to his office, and likely would have done something more drastic had the mage not been noble born.

Nothing had happened to him because of his father, being the son of Bann Pieter Trevelyan did have some perks, even in the circle.

His birth had not hurt his rise in the circle any. Most of the senior mages had wanted to be on good terms with him, even when he had just been an apprentice. The Lucrosians had courted his favor greatly, hoping to get his father involved in their various money making schemes.

Nicholai had never had the patience or the desire to simply work to earning profit. As a first born son, he had been in training to one day lead his family, had his magic never manifested, he likely would have. Pieter Trevelyan had been a fighter in his youth, competing in the grand tourney at the tender age of thirteen. The Bann had done his best to make his eldest son into a warrior prince that the whole of House Trevelyan could be proud of. He had first held a training sword at a very young age, and by the time he was eleven had gotten very good at the art of swordplay.

He had had little use for such skills in the circle, or hadn't had before the trouble had started. Now it seemed his skills were in great demand.

Lucky me.

"Trevelyan?"

He looked up. Senior Enchanter Gilbert stood before him, dark skinned with a bald head and heavily waxed mustache, the leader of the remaining loyalists here was easy to recognize.

"Yes," Nicholai said, smoothing out his robes.

"The others want to see you," Gilbert said, "They think it is time we tried to come up with a plan."

 _Now they want to plan_ , Nicholai thought, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. They had been on the run for days, wandering aimlessly through the wilderness of the central Free Marches.

Of course, now that supplies were getting low, they needed to do more than simply run, if the group did not do something soon, hunger and fear would finish what the Templars had started.

He sighed, but nodded in agreement. As one of the four remaining senior enchanters the others were now looking to him for guidance. He already knew what to expect from the others during this little meeting. Enchanter Lamont, a high strung little man with curly red hair had been a loyalist for as long as Trevelyan had known him, but the deaths of several of his friends during the escape had caused him to drift towards the Libertarian point of view. Enchanter Gillian, the dark haired olive skinned woman who now represented the Lucrosians, would insist that they try out new ways to help boost their funds.

Trevelyan agreed, but thought they needed more than coin if they were to survive the next few months.

 _You could not spend coin if you were dead._

IOI

"The chantry would never have authorized this," Lamont snarled, "We should purge every Templar we come across, as punishment for their betrayal of Andraste!"

Trevelyan rolled his eyes.

"If you have an extra army lying around Monty," he said dryly, "I'm all for that plan."

The Loyalist glared at him.

"Your glibness does you no credit Nicholai," he said flatly.

"Neither does getting us all killed doing something stupid," Trevelyan responded.

"We do not have the supplies to do anything against the Templars," Gillian said, "And we have no means to replenish what we have used already."

Gilbert shook his head.

"Perhaps we can go back to Ostwick, seek shelter in the chantry."

Lamont glared at him.

"The Templars remaining in the city would cut our throats even before we reached those gates, any survivors they captured would be made tranquil, mark my words."

"We **can't** go back to the city," Nicholai agreed, "we wouldn't make it with the wounded, and we would more than likely run into a Templar patrol before we even reached the gates."

"What is the alternative then?" Gilbert demanded, his voice cracking with fear.

Gillian sighed.

"We have little gold, and no lyrium, we might have a chance to do more if we had both, but…"

And if we had a chicken we could make soup," Lamont growled, "But we don't have any chicken. Dreaming about what we _could_ do if we had access to lyrium is just fantasy talk."

The Lucrosian glared at him.

"What do _you_ suggest Monty," she demanded, "Blood magic?"

The Loyalist puffed up his chest.

" **No,** " he gasped, " **Never.** "

"Because that is what it sounded like you were suggesting," Gillian spat back, "We have no lyrium; so why not turn to blood; we still have access to that."

Lamont glared at her.

"I would never be so foolish," he said sounding insulted.

"You should not say such things Gillian," Gilbert said, "No one here is _that_ foolish."

The Lucrosian glared at them both.

"Desperation makes fools of us all," she said, "Our people are getting desperate, if we don't do something soon…"

Lamont gave her a dirty look.

"If you have any ideas Gilly, now is as good a time as any to suggest them."

The Lucrosians mouth snapped shut, she was smart enough to realize that she was out of their league, perhaps all of them were.

Nicholai sighed.

He would have preferred someone to follow, he was not afraid to lead himself, but had no desire to harm his family by taking up the mantle himself. He had sat back for as long as he could, watching these three, hoping that one of them would show some balls, that one of them would step forward, at least until they linked up again with the First Enchanter, provided he survived Orlais of course.

He sighed heavily.

It seemed he did not have the luxury of sitting back anymore.

"Perhaps we should leave the Marches," Gilbert suggested, "Link up with our fellows in Orlais?"

"No," Trevelyan said flatly.

That got the others attention. It was the first time one of them had refused a suggestion.

"No?" Lamont said giving him a quizzical look.

"No," Nicholai repeated, "We would have to go through Nevarra to reach Orlais. We might run into other mages, but we also might end up pinned between Templar forces pursuing us, and Templar forces watching the border for any mages attempting to cross."

That silenced everyone for a few moments. Perhaps they had not considered that.

"We could take a ship," Gilbert suggested.

"I doubt if many of us are sailors Gilbert," Nicholai reminded his fellow mage, "And as Gillian would no doubt point out, we don't have the gold to hire a ship, if we could even find one that would take us."

Lamont's eyes narrowed.

"What would you suggest Trevelyan?" he asked.

"Indeed," Gillian said, "What do _you_ think we should do?"

Nicholai sighed, both happy and unhappy that they were all falling into line so easily.

 _Have we been locked up for so long we are all just sheep,_ he wondered, _and if we are, do we even have a chance to survive on our own?_

Sadly, he had no answer to those questions.

He took a deep breath, and tried to think.

He thought of his half-sister Natalya, the bard was always getting herself in and out of trouble, she had managed to outthink more than a few enemies who were both stronger than her, and better defended.

At those times, his sister had said, I remember three little things, those will help you above all else when outnumbered or outclassed: Knowledge, supplies, and aggression.

He considered her three points of troublemaking…

…perhaps there was a way to adapt them here.

"First," he said, "We need information. We haven't heard anything since word of the First Enchanters' escape in Orlais."

He pursed his lips, trying to come up with ideas.

"We've passed several villages and inns. We should consider sending people back; find out what is going on. We should probably avoid any place with a chantry; it is most likely to have a Templar garrison."

The Divine would never have agreed with what the Templars did in the White Spire," Gilbert suggested.

"We can't be sure," Nicholai said, "She might decide to support the Templars as a means of keeping the peace. We need to know before we make any more decisions."

No one rejected his suggestion, so he thought they likely agreed with him.

"Next, we need supplies; I think I might have a way of getting us some."

Gillian tilted her head slightly.

"How?"

Trevelyan smiled.

"After our scouts have gathered the information we need, we might have them suggest to the right people that there are mages camping near their home, but that the mages might consider leaving if the good people...made it worth their while."

Gilbert coughed with shock, his eyes widened with surprise.

"You," he sputtered, "You want us to demand **tribute**?"!

Nicholai's smile turned more sly.

"Not tribute," he said, " _a donation_. Most people fear magic and mages in general, many would happily pay what they could to make sure that no mages go within a hundred paces of their home."

Lamont frowned.

"What if they summon the Templars?"

"Since we are not going to be where they think we are going to be, that won't be much of a problem."

Gillian gave him a cold look.

"What if they don't pay?"

"We leave them alone," Trevelyan shrugged, "I'm sure there are enough wealthy merchants in this area that they would rather pay than risk the wrath of angry mages, and those that don't…well…they will just think that the mages threat was just a pointless rumor, and think nothing more of it."

Gillian nodded.

"It is a bit of a gamble," she said.

"Our lives are all a gamble right now," he reminded her.

Lamont tapped his chin with his finger considering what Trevelyan had said.

"You wish to use the mundanes' fear of us, without inspiring more?"

"Exactly," Trevelyan said, "we only have enough strength right now to defend ourselves, maybe."

Nicholai glanced over at the others behind him; some were looking up waiting to hear good news from their superiors.

He was hoping to give them some.

"We start sacking villages now, all of the Free Marches will rise up against us, and help the Templars hunt us down. We accept our donations, stay out of sight, heal our wounded, and resupply, then we can focus on what comes next."

"And what does come next?" Gillian asked him.

Trevelyan sighed.

"No one here wanted this war, I know I didn't, but it is here now, so we need to take measures to survive it. First thing we need is blades. It is unlikely we will find any knights or lords willing to take up our cause, so we will need a force of sell-swords."

He turned to Gillian.

"That is where the gold we are going to get comes in."

"Depending on how much we can raise," the Lucrosian said, "It could be done."

He turned to the two loyalists.

"Gentlemen?" he asked.

Lamont shook his head.

"Joshua and Clarice were loyal mages, and good friends."

The red haired man's eyes flashed with anger.

"The Templar recruits in the Circle butchered them. They have betrayed their vows to both the chantry and Andraste."

He gave Trevelyan an intense look.

"If you are going to bring the Maker's justice to those murderers…I'm in."

Gillian looked at Gilbert.

"Well?" she said.

The loyalist sighed.

"As long as we don't hurt any innocents, I'm in."

Trevelyan nodded.

"I don't want to hurt any innocents," he said.

"But we will defend ourselves if we must," Gillian said.

Trevelyan nodded.

"If we must."

The Lucrosian smiled slightly.

"We have a plan," she said, "AT least the beginnings of one. I'll see who wants to go and scout out the surrounding settlements."

"Tell them to be careful," Trevelyan said, "Don't take any unnecessary risks, and avoid the Templars."

Gillian nodded.

"I'll tell them Nick."

He nodded.

"Good."

The Lucrosian left, leaving Trevelyan with the two Loyalist. Both looked like they were about to soil their drawers.

He did not blame them.

They may not have wanted it, but they were now at war with the entire Templar order.

A frightening thought.

"Where will we find sell-swords?" Gilbert asked the fear he was feeling making his voice crack.

"Yes," Lamont said nothing, "We will need skilled men, men that **can** be trusted."

Nicholai Trevelyan nodded.

"Not to worry," he said.

"I know a guy."


	2. The Sell-Sword

**Chapter 2: The Sell-Sword**

The mage rebellion likely would have ended quickly if not for one simple fact.

 _The Templars had_ _ **lost**_ _the initiative._

Nicholai Trevelyan stood on a broken balcony of an all but forgotten Tevinter ruin. Below him, in an overgrown courtyard, young mage apprentices trained with both staff and sword. A month had passed since his decision to take the reins of his fellow survivors, and in that time, with both money and information, the truth about why the Templars had not struck back hard became abundantly clear.

"All right you lot, pair up," Kurtz said loudly, "Let's see how badly you all can swing a sword."

The mage's eyes narrowed as he watched as the man adjusted the feet of a thirteen year old apprentice; Kurtz was an old friend of his father, a sell sword that had helped House Trevelyan from time to time. Nicholai suspected that his father would not take kindly to him poaching those he depended on for military support, but mage saw that he had little choice.

He would do anything now to ensure their survival.

The boy had likely never held a sword in life, the son of farmers if Trevelyan remembered correctly. He did not remember the boy's name, but remembered his face, Lydia had been considering taking him on as her personal apprentice, a role that would have led to great things in the Ostwick Circle.

Unfortunately, the Ostwick Circle was no more, and the boy had to take on a more militaristic role, a harsher role.

The boy was now one of many. The mage was surprised that not only information had been available in the surrounding towns. In addition to twenty sell-swords they had hired, at least forty volunteers had joined them since they had enacted their plan to gain donations from the surrounding settlements. Most of these were people that had grudges against the Templars. Many had family members who had been taken by the Circle over the years. Family that had died, been made tranquil, or had just vanished into thin air. That last group, the disappearances were probably those mages who had failed their Harrowing, he suspected, but, even Trevelyan, who had been a loyal Circle mage, did not doubt that more sinister endings had occurred to at least a few of those lost mages.

It wasn't talked about, but it did happen. Some Templars had…appetites. The Knight-Commanders did what they could to control men and women like that, but even they could not hear about everything their charges had done, and when it came to the word of a mage versus a Templar, a Templar usually won.

Trevelyan frowned.

Kurtz kicked the boy's feet into position, he seemed nervous but eager. He had only first picked up a sword yesterday, and now the boy was expected to take up a blade and fight against what some thought was the greatest military force in Thedas, a goal that might have seemed impossible, if not for the aftermath of the events in the White Spire.

Information, like coin, had been slow coming at first. The situation was chaotic, and very confused, but slowly facts began to take shape, and the face of the war revealed itself.

From what they had been able to gather, Lord Seeker Lambert Van Reeves had been furious at the Divine over the events of the White Spire, apparently blaming her for the First Enchanters' escape from Templar custody. In response to this, the leader of the Seekers had terminated the Nevarran accords, the ancient treaty that had bound the Templars to the chantry.

Nicholai shook his head at that.

 _What_ had the man been **thinking?** The Templars had always been able to claim the moral high ground in their conflict with the mages because of their allegiance to the Divine and the chantry. By breaking away, the Templar order was now simply another rogue organization, no different than the now independent mages that had once made up the circle of magi. Many would still think the Templars were doing the Maker's work, but by cutting themselves off from the chantry they had also cut themselves off from their main source of shelter and support.

Trevelyan might have been worried about the state of things. The Lord Seeker had taken direct command of the Templar order, no doubt the man had intended to march on the escaped First Enchanters, crush what he thought of as a rebellion while it was still in its infancy. Alas, he would never get the chance…

According to a reliable source, the very night that Lambert had signed the order breaking away from the chantry, he was found dead in his quarters, murdered, his throat cut. The Templars surrounding the Lord Seeker blamed the mages, but…Trevelyan expected a culprit…more…closer to home.

Many believed that Van Reeves had arrested the First Enchanters without permission from the Divine. That the Most Holy had seen what the man was doing as a power grab, the Seekers had always served the chantry first, watching not only for rogue mages, but keeping the Templars in check as well. The Lord Seeker had changed that, he had placed the Seekers as the ruling body of the Templars and with him at its head had been poised to force a new order on Thedas. Had the man lived; he likely would have crushed the mage rebellion, and then moved on to claim true political power for himself and his cronies, given the problems that were said to be coming out of Orlais it would have been easy for him.

Unfortunately for the Lord Seeker, but very fortunate for his enemies, someone had decided to stop him.

Had the Divine _ordered_ his death? It was possible; it was believed that she had several bards in her service. It was also possible that someone within his own organization wanted power for themselves; such a person might have seen the Lord Seeker's decision as a grand opportunity. They might have eliminated Van Reeves out of a desire to replace him as the Lord of the Templar order.

Whatever the reason, Lambert's death had sent shockwaves through the newly independent Templar order, the command chain, which should have been as strong as steel, splintered without Lambert to hold it in his iron grip.

The Templars were in disarray. Some refused to accept Lambert's choice to throw out the Nevarran Accords, those Templars stayed loyal to the Divine and the chantry. Those that had left were now arguing over who should take the lead. So far as Trevelyan and his allies knew, no Seeker had yet to take up Lambert's mantle.

That was not surprising, Trevelyan thought, had Lambert indeed been trying a power grab, he would not have wanted any of his lieutenants to have that much ambition. Of course, it was also possible that none of the Seekers wished to take up the role out of fear. What Lambert had done, turning his back on his oath to the chantry was technically treason.

Perhaps none of the Seekers wanted to walk that road, at least…not yet.

Eventually, the Templars would sort the whole mess out; in the meantime, the mages now had the initiative. The attack on the First Enchanters, not to mention the annulment of the Circle in Dairsmuid had unified the mages against a common enemy. The First Enchanters, under the guidance of Grand Enchanter Fiona had voted to go to war against the Templars.

Now…the mages had to turn those words into action.

Trevelyan, once one of several senior enchanters had become his small group's war leader, with his three fellows slipping into the role of counsellors. He did not believe that they could defeat the Templars on open ground, but felt that there **was** a path to victory.

By cutting themselves off from the chantry, the Templars had also cut themselves off from their main source of support and supplies. The Templars were going to need both gold and lyrium to conduct their war effort; the chantry would hopefully not be bullied into supplying them anymore.

Those supply lines would be the mages' key to victory.

They could not face a battle-hardened Templar army on open ground, but by cutting them off from their lyrium supply, by seizing their supply wagons, taking their food and armaments, Trevelyan hoped to force the Templars into a position that they would have to negotiate with their enemies. If that failed, then at least they could effectively weaken the order here in the Free Marches so that if the mages had to flee into Nevarra, they would not have to worry about a strong Templar army snapping at their heels. Still, Trevelyan held out hope that at least some of the Seekers and Knight-Commanders would be reasonable, that they would at least be open to the idea of negotiation. The fanatics in the order, those who chose not to stay loyal to Justinia, would likely have to be eliminated, but that could not be helped.

Those men and women had caused too much pain; at last they would finally be brought to justice.

Justice far too long denied.

Trevelyan left his perch and journeyed down to inspect his small but determined band of rebels. Two sell-swords, acting as his new bodyguards followed in his wake. Kurtz had vouched for both these men; otherwise they would not have been here. Trevelyan did not doubt that the Templars were not above using assassins to eliminate the mage leadership. The lure of gold and faith would make any mage trying to organize his fellows a tempting target for whomever eventually assumed command of the Templars.

So far, the Divine had remained silent about what was happening; she offered no support for the mages, and no chastisement for the Templars. She had not even pleaded for both groups to stop.

Trevelyan pursed his lips.

He would be very interested when Divine Justinia finally did decide to make a statement on the matter…

…Very interested indeed.

IOI

"Move your feet, damn you!"

Kurtz glared at the young mage with the training sword. He had just been knocked on his ass by one of his fellows, which was surprising. The boy was by far the best of his students, so far…

The sell sword frowned.

That was not saying very much.

Kurtz had been working the Free Marches for almost thirty years, and had known the Trevelyans for almost fifteen. He was a head shorter than Nicholai, with dirty shoulder length black hair, and a salt and pepper goatee.

He had met the first time a few years back, bandits had been harassing the Bann's trade interests, and His lordship had put together a hunting party to deal with them. His eldest son, on loan from the Circle of Magi had accompanied them.

The sell-sword had liked the younger Trevelyan, he knew a warriors business, but had the education and cunning of a circle mage. It was a dangerous combination to be sure, as those Templar bastards were about to discover soon…

…Provided that this lot learned enough to survive their first engagement.

"Don't stand so damn still," he said grabbing the apprentice's shoulder, "But do not be afraid to swing your sword either, you hold back like that in a real fight you will be dead."

"Yes ser," the young mage said rising.

Kurtz glared at him.

"Don't ser me," he growled, "Just get it right."

The boy nodded and returned to his sparing.

Kurtz rolled his eyes.

Maker, he thought.

 _If Trevelyan had not been paying him so much…_

He had not been surprised when Bann Pieter's eldest boy had tracked him down to that inn not far down the wounded coast. He had heard about the mages of course, and figured they would need good steel and men who knew how to use it. Trevelyan had known what he could do, and he knew where he stayed between jobs. They had parted on good terms, so if the boy needed a fighter, he knew where to find one.

If the mages were going to fight a war, they would need men like him.

"There is a fight coming Kurtz," Trevelyan had said, "We could use your help."

The mage had dropped a sack of coins on the table. Almost double what his father had paid him for the last job they had done together two years back.

That had been all it took to secure his loyalty.

Now he had to earn that pay.

"How is going Kurtz?"

He turned as Nicholai Trevelyan made his way down the steps. Even on the run the boy looked far too pretty to be a warrior.

Kurtz snorted.

Good thing the mage had skills to back it up.

"Slow," the sell sword admitted, "If half this lot survives their first engagement, I will be surprised."

Trevelyan gave him an arched look.

"You should not say such things in front of the others," he said.

Again the sell-sword snorted.

"You paid me to whip this lot into shape, not blow smoke up their asses."

Trevelyan frowned, and pulled the man away so they could talk privately.

He glared at Kurtz.

"You don't have to be so bloody dour about it." he said.

Kurtz chuckled.

"Tell you what, lad," he said, "You be the optimistic leader with the hope-filled heart, and I'll be the old dour bastard that trains your men enough that you **can** be optimistic."

Trevelyan chuckled.

The sell-sword smiled slightly.

Trevelyan might give him shit, but even he did not doubt the sell-sword's skills.

If Kurtz said he would whip these sons and daughters of whores into fighting shape, then that is what he would do."

Trevelyan stood back and watched his new soldiers spar. A few weren't catching on, but he could likely already see the results Kurtz was getting with some of the men.

"We're going to have to start small," the mage said.

"Good idea," Kurtz said stepping away from the men. "Maybe find some bandits to practice on, get this lot used to shedding blood before they had to take on the chantry's attack dogs."

Nicholai nodded.

Most of the guards Kurtz had met over the years would likely take their recruits into lawless areas for a day or two. It was there that the pups could get their first taste of dealing with live targets, and realizes that not every enemy they would face would fight with honor, not that the sell-sword expected much honor out of the Templars.

He had never been very fond of the prancing prigs. They killed just like he did, but felt morally justified because some line in chant of light.

Magic is to serve man and not rule him.

Okay all well and good, but that did not mean that you were better than someone because you couldn't throw fire from your fingers and at the same time that ability did not make you better than anyone else.

The sell-sword shook his head.

Templars could be assholes, and with the power they wielded under the chantry they could be even bigger assholes. You did not have to have magic to let power go to your head.

"You have any idea where we can take our men, to practice I mean," Trevelyan asked.

"Few places," Kurtz said with a shrug, "Some of the surrounding farms have been complaining about them to the local magistrates. We clean 'em out, there might even be some profit in it. You might even make a few friends."

Nicholai nodded. He might have been a mage, but he was also the Bann's son.

He knew the value of allies.

Trevelyan turned to him.

"You think we have a chance, Kurtz?" he asked, "The mages I mean."

The sell-sword sighed.

"You got a fight coming, that much is for sure. Hit and run tactics will work best for right now, but eventually you will have to face the bastards on open ground that will be the real test."

Kurtz shook his head.

"Beat them there, you may finally get them to sit down with you and talk terms."

Yeah," the mage said grimly, "I figured that."

He looked over at the men training. Kurtz couldn't read minds, but he didn't need to, he had seen that look on the faces of men who led men into battle before.

"Many of these people won't be here to see that day will they?" he said.

Kurtz shrugged.

"That is war boy," he said.

That is war.


	3. Song

**Chapter 3: Song**

Ser Pedric Raines of Ostwick lay dead in a back alley gutter.

A woman dressed in rags stood over him, a few moments ago she had been cowering in this alley, just one of the many unfortunates that the Teyrn of Ostwick refused to admit existed on his streets. Now she stood proud, a lion pleased with itself after having brought down its prey. Despite the dirt and ragged clothes, she was quite pretty, dark blonde hair, large green almond shaped eyes. She moved with a cat like tread that never failed to turn the heads of many a young man in Ostwick, at least when she was dressed in the finery that she wore normally anyway. Tonight she had not been moving in the circles of the elite, tonight she had been one of the downtrodden, invisible to a man like the late Ser Pedric.

She smiled to herself.

It had not been hard to lure him down here. She had spent weeks watching the man in one guise or another. She had come to know his vices and habits quite well. The man had begun to see himself as a warrior on a holy crusade. He saw the rising mage rebellion as a chance to win glory that he had never gotten a chance to gain in youth. The promise of getting a chance to aid the Templars in their worthy cause was too great for the man to resist; it had been far too tempting a lure. By going down this alley the man had ceased to be a noble knight, he had been her prey.

Tonight…she had finally stopped stalking her prey.

Tonight…she had made the kill.

The woman drew a small satchel from behind a loose stone, she opened it up and began planting evidence on the man's person, it was not enough to simply kill the man, had she simply wanted him dead she could have snuck into his house at any time and slit his throat while he slept. It would have been an easy job, but not what her lord wanted. The knight would have been gone, but his legacy would have remained, one of friends or family would have taken up his calling and continued to vex her patron and interfere with his plans.

Her lord did not want a martyr, he wanted the man destroyed.

Tonight she would do that.

It had been over a month since the Circle of Ostwick had fallen; in that time Ser Pedric had been busy. The man had always been a troublemaker, and he had always had a big mouth, but lately his ranting and raving had begun interfering with her patron's business.

It fallen to her to make sure that that problem went away.

The papers she planted were fairly straight forward, documents of supposed Templar troop movements, at the same time she had added several, shall we say, risqué themed letters from one of the girl's in the local brothel. The girl had vanished a few days ago, not the woman's doing, but something she was willing to make use of just the same. The letters were not even fakes, they had been meant for the son of a local lord, one who had discovered his heir's…night time habits and had decided to intervene.

How her patron got those letters she did not know, but she was not ashamed to make good use of them.

The documents and letters would paint a very interesting picture when the Teyrn's men discovered them that added with what her patron would inform the Teyrn when he was summoned would make all the difference.

By morning Ser Pedric would no longer be considered a virtuous man. The love letters would link him to a low-born whore. A girl he had planned to run away with after he had used his connections with the Templars to gain information that the mage rebels could use to deal their enemy a crushing blow. A blow that only he would help them recover from, the documents listed several allies that, once they had been moved into places of power, would allow the knight to gain a hold over the Templar officers in the city. In short the man would have been trying to play both sides against the middle. When his body was found, it would seem that one side or the other had discovered this plan and killed the man for his treason.

The scandal would be enough to neutralize not only Ser Pedric's allies, but his family as well. Her Lord Bann Pieter Trevelyan would no longer have to defend himself against the fool's slanderous accusations in the royal court. That is why the Bann trusted her, he had needed an agent who knew what he wanted, and never failed.

Natalya Song was that agent.

She darted out of the alley into a dark alcove not far from where the body would be found. She made her way to the small cache she had set up earlier that week, and quickly began her startling transformation. She wiped the dirt from her face and slipped off the ratty shawl, skirt and blouse she had been wearing. Underneath her clothes was a light suit of a leather combat armor, thin enough not to have been noticed, but strong enough to block a blade had she needed it to. The over-eager Pedric had not even pulled a weapon when she came up behind him. The man had received his knighthood for political, not military reasons. He had not even put up a fight, which was surprising considering all the trouble he had caused recently.

Bann Trevelyan cared nothing for the mage rebellion, but at the same time he was not pleased with the Templars either. He had seen their choice to leave the chantry as an act of treason, but that was not why he had signed the fool knight's death warrant tonight.

Ser Pedric had spent much of his time over the last few years trying to convince the merchants of Ostwick to abandon one of House Trevelyan's most loyal allies. House Amell of Kirkwall had been on the rise for the last eight years. Yet, Pedric and his allies refused to accept that. The Champion of Kirkwall had brought her family back from almost nothing; she had gained both wealth and prestige through her brave deeds. Yet the knight and his allies felt that she should be held solely accountable for the mess that consumed the Gallows three years ago. That the Champion should be shunned because of what a rogue mage had done, and how a power mad Templar had responded.

Bann Pieter had disagreed.

Before now the man had been merely an annoyance, one easily ignored. When the Templars broke with the Nevarran accords, the man had seen an opportunity to turn his rhetoric into action. He had sought to use the Templars to deal with what he called dangers to the ruling class. House Amell had been first on that list, and the man had already received at least one reply to his letters from the former Knight-Commander of Ostwick, asking for more information on what the nobles under the knight would require.

That missive had sealed the man's death warrant. He needed to simply die, but to die in disgrace.

Natalya had done her best to ensure that that had come to pass.

The man had been a fool, she thought, if he had wished to go after House Amell, he should have done so far away from Bann Pieter and House Trevelyan.

One did not threaten an ally of House Trevelyan, especially when that ally had blood ties to Leandra Amell.

The Amells had been both allies and business partners to House Trevelyan for almost nine years. The Lady Leandra, Maker keep her soul, had been a childhood friend of Bann Pieter. Eight years ago, when he had first learned of her return to Kirkwall, he had made the long journey to the City of Chains just to verify what his agents in Viscount Dumar's court had told him.

She had still been a child then, thirteen years old, only recently taking up her calling as his agent. Leandra Amell, or Leandra Hawke as she had been known by then, had not impressed her. The Bann however, had been almost giddy.

Song pursed her lips at that memory.

The Bann had not been in love with the woman, not romantically anyway, he had hinted that there had been a time that he had wanted that but duty and obligation blocked that path. Yet, that did not change the fact that Bann Pieter still held the woman in high esteem, and with an almost brotherly level affection.

That affection is where the relationship between House Amell and House Trevelyan had started.

The Bann had been there when Lady Leandra had introduced her children to the Kirkwall elite. He had helped get the necessary contracts when Amell owned ore started flowing out of the Bone Pit mines outside of Kirkwall.

Natalya frowned.

And he had been one of the first to arrive for the funeral when word of Leandra Amell's murder had reached Ostwick. He had stood at the side of the woman's children as her body went to the flames.

After that, he had remained close to the eldest girl, the one who, only a few weeks later would become the Champion of Kirkwall. Natalya had thought that the Bann would try to join their families through marriage. The Bann's heir Stefan was only a few years younger than the Champion. That alliance had never happened. It seemed that her patron was content to play the role of the strong yet occasionally dotty uncle to Leandra Hawke's children, especially the elder girl.

It was for her that she had dealt with Ser Pedric, Natalya was sure of it.

Even a champion needed help occasionally, the Bann had said.

Song shook her head.

She had never really understood why he stayed so close to the girl.

He had attended the champion's wedding, and later was in the chantry when she and her husband, the new Lord and Lady Amell had had their first child inducted into the chantry.

He had been there for the weddings of all of the Hawke children, in fact, he and Stefan both.

Natalya had not attended any of those gatherings. Bastards were not welcome at such noble affairs, even _noble_ bastards. The only one more unwelcome than she was the Bann's eldest son, Nicholai had been in the circle since he was boy, and did not attend family functions.

It was a shame, she thought, Nicholai had a lot to contribute to their family.

If only her patron and the rest of them been willing to listen.

She pulled out her gown from her cache, and slipped into it. It was not as nice as the noble-born daughters of Ostwick were, but it was easy to move in, and hinted at the wealth of House Trevelyan. The wealth of House Trevelyan was as much a shield as her innocent smile and fawning looks she would use should a guard stop her on her way back from tonight's dark business.

She ran her fingers through her hair, making sure that it was presentable, before pulling it up in the proper style for a noble's servant. Officially she was the Bann's favorite bard and singer; she had performed many times at his noble gatherings.

Unofficially, she was his assassin, that and a scandal now almost a quarter a century old.

She stepped out onto the cobbles, not giving the alley where the fool knight now lay dead a second glance. Someone would find the body eventually; she did not need to take any steps to ensure that.

She smiled slyly.

She had done her duty to her house and master, now it was time to enjoy herself…

…And perhaps take a few steps towards improving her own future as well.

She made her way to a large building in the nicest parts of Ostwick. The place served as both a club and a boarding house for the wealthy and powerful of the city. It was also a place that visiting dignitaries and nobles could find respite in wine, cards and talk of politics, not to mention the occasional physical liaison.

The guards let her pass through the doors with barely a glance. They knew who she served, and they knew who she had come to see.

Song smiled.

It was here that she would find her future.

It was here that her dear Oliver was waiting.

Ser Oliver Pentaghast was a distant cousin of King Markus of Nevarra, nowhere near the throne, not yet anyway, but born with an almost all consuming ambition, an ambition that young Natalya Song shared.

She smiled as she found him. Her handsome knight was sitting at one of the back card tables, his dark hair and eyes seeming almost jet black in the golden light of the room. He seemed relaxed, a tankard of ale at his side and a pile of gambling chips before him. All around them nobles and merchants milled, laughed and conducted business. The red and purple tapestries covered the eggshell white walls, while the candles and glow crystals bathed everyone in their buttery light.

Natalya moved to his side, leaning over his shoulder.

"Good luck tonight, Milord?" she purred.

"So far," he said grinning, between his well-trimmed goatee, his pearly white teeth shining in the light.

He looked up into her emerald eyes.

"I think my night just got better," he cooed.

She blushed slightly.

Oliver had always known exactly what to say to make her melt.

Why else would she have agreed to help him with his family?

Her lover cashed in his chips and stepped away from the card table. They hooked arms and made their way across the hall towards the bar in the back.

He looked her over with the eye of a seasoned noble.

"You were working tonight?"

She shrugged.

"My patron had a problem," she said coyly, "I removed it."

Ser Oliver chuckled.

"Such dedication," he purred, "You will make some man a good wife one day."

Her smile turned more predatory.

"A good wife and **more** ," she said.

"Hm," Oliver said.

Natalya fought down the urge to frown.

She knew Oliver's ambitions. He longed to seize the throne of Nevarra for himself, to bring back some sparkle to the fading Pentaghast line. King Markus was old, and his only direct heir equally so.

Nevarra needed new life, new Pentaghast blood to lead it into the next age. Oliver felt that he could be that man, and Natalya wished to be at his side, but…

It was not so easy. The two of them enjoyed each other's company, but the circumstances of her birth made any true alliance impossible.

The King of Nevarra could clearly not marry some low born bard, especially one who was a bastard as well.

Song's eyes narrowed.

She was going to have to do something about that. In her current state, the best she could hope for was to be Oliver's mistress, but those were a copper a dozen in most royal courts.

She did not want to be a simple mistress; she wanted to be a royal, a queen.

Her fingers curled into fists.

She wanted to be **thee** queen.

Yet, so far, she had not found a way to reach that goal.

Oliver, likely noticing her souring mood, smiled at her.

"Let us not think of such weighty subjects," he said, "the evening is young and so are we."

His smile widened.

"Let us do our best to enjoy it."

Natalya smiled back, but this time it was a mask, she was good at faking cheer when the need called for it.

She knew what she needed, but she was not sure how to get it.

If she wanted a noble life, a true noble life, than her lord needed to give her the recognition she deserved, the recognition that was her birthright.

Her name might not have been Trevelyan, but it was in her blood.

Bann Pieter had seen to that the night he first lain with her mother.

Natalya Song, bastard daughter of House Trevelyan, sighed slightly.

Only her father could help her now, but how to make him give what she needed?

How, she thought grimly.

She faked another smile for her lover's benefit, but her mind continued to work.

 _How?_


	4. My Father's Son

**My Father's Son**

 **Spring 9:40 Dragon Age, seven months before the Divine Conclave**

It was a cool misty morn on the outskirts of the City of Ostwick. The trees rocked gently in the fall breeze, while fog banks hid most of the valley from sight.

In the center of the valley, not far from the main road, stood a small campaign tent, with twenty armed men moving to and fro passed it. In the center of the tent sat a small oak table, large enough to seat only two, one of the spots was occupied by a large bear-like man was graying-dark blonde hair and bright green eyes.

He sat quietly as morning broke over the valley; he had been here since midday yesterday, waiting for his guest to arrive. He had slept little during the night, not really worried about bandits or the like, but rather what the coming of his guest would bring.

The large man licked his lips, and wrung his hands, something he stopped the moment he realized that he was doing it.

It would not do for the men to see their lord so…uncomfortable. They had come to know him as a jovial sort, but that he was also quick to anger. Few in Ostwick would risk angering him, he had been quite the warrior in his youth, had even placed fifth in the grand tourney on the eve of his fourteenth name day. That had been many years ago now, but still he liked to think that his strength remained.

He would need that strength today, yes.

He swallowed hard.

Today, he needed to be strong.

The men had brought down a deer just before sundown yesterday, now it roasted over a spit while several elven servants prepared the rest of the nobleman's breakfast. He hoped that a little hospitality would go farther than veiled threats. He had much to ask today, and for once, his titles would not help him, not even the one that mattered the most.

One of the men, a scout he used on hunting trips informed him that there were several riders approaching. They had stopped just outside the range of the nobleman's archers, and were asking permission to come forward.

The noble sighed heavily.

His guest had finally arrived.

"Have the boys bring them up," he informed the scout, "But keep a sharp eye out, we don't want to be ambushed here."

The scout gave him a confused look.

By your guests, or the Templars, Your Lordship?"

The large man frowned.

"Either or both," he said, "Now hurry off and do what I say."

"Yes, Milord," the man said as he hurried off.

The noble shook his head.

 _Bloody idiot._

It might have been a bit harsh, but that was the kind of day that the noble was having. Both his rivals in the court of Ostwick and his allies in the chantry breathing down his neck.

He sighed.

Today, he hoped to end **both** those annoyances. All he had to do was convince the boy to stop this madness and return home.

It should have been easy, he thought, sons should listen to their fathers.

Of course, if the boy was _not_ as stubborn as mule, then he would not be the noble's son.

Modest in temper and bold in deed did not mean that a person had to be reasonable.

The noble sighed again.

Today, he could not afford to be the boy's father. Today, he had to be Bann Pieter Trevelyan of Ostwick.

Bann Pieter needed to get him to see reason.

It was time to step away from the insanity.

It was time to come home.

The Bann watched as five riders emerged from the mist. Four were both armed and armored, sell-swords protecting their employer from harm.

Pieter might have been offended, but he recognized the position the boy was in. He was no longer just a mage in the circle; he was fighting a war now, and according to the Bann's sources, had become a leader of sorts.

Leaders did not survive long in war time if they were not careful.

Their leader approached the campaign tent. He no longer wore the robes of an Enchanter in the circle of magi. A chainmail vest with long leather duster over it shielded him from throat to knee. Thigh high armored boots and heavy trousers protected his leg against any less than lethal attack. The man carried his staff in one hand, and wore a sword on his belt.

Bann Pieter leaned back as the mage approached. He did not look well. He was thinner than the noble remembered, unlike his younger brother; the mage had never inherited his father's size. He had been born slender like his mother. He was not a bear like Pieter and Stefan, but a young lion, fast and sly, or at least he had been before the war had started. He was grimy too. The mage was dirty from his time on the road, his almost shoulder length hair was dirty and unkept; the traces of a scraggly beard covered his neck and chin.

The only thing that had not changed was the younger man's green eyes; they remained strong, unbroken, and proud.

In another life, the Bann would have been pleased to see that.

His son remained strong, unbent and unbroken.

Unfortunately, that was not the life they were in. He needed to convince the boy to bend; either that or he would have to be broken…

…That was simply the way of things.

The mage stopped just short of the opening of the campaign tent, he stood waiting, one hand behind his back.

He gave the Bann a slight smile.

"Father," he said with a nod.

"Nicholai," the Bann responded with a heavy sigh.

He looked his son up and down, and finally frowned deeply.

"You look like shit, son," he said dryly.

If Nicholai took offense, he did not show it.

His smile simply widened.

"Well…it has been a long war," he quipped.

The Bann snorted.

So it had indeed, he thought.

 _Now was the time to end it._

One of the servants brought two plates, loaded down with food, and sat them down on the opposite sides of the table.

The Bann motioned to his guest, his son.

"Sit," he said, "Eat. You might as well have at least some food in your belly before we get started."

The mage shrugged and sat down, but made sure that his staff remained in reach…

…just in case.

A bottle of wine sat between them, but neither man even looked at it. Nicholai motioned for one of the servants to bring them both water.

What had to be said today would be difficult enough, no point in bringing alcohol into it.

When the Bann was a boy, his brother had been killed while hunting, no one had said exactly what had happened, but alcohol had been involved, after that, Bann Pieter had rarely touched the stuff, he was not above being a good host, he offered it, but that did not mean that he drank it himself.

The mage tried not to eat like he was starving, which of course, is what he had been. The mage's supplies had been dwindling in the last few weeks.

He felt a little ashamed of himself for accepting his father's offer, but recognized the need to keep up his strength, so much depended on him now.

He could not afford to let himself go without because of simple pride.

The two men ate in silence for a time, their mutual guards held position nearby in case they were needed. The Bann did not think that any Templars would disturb them but he chose not to take chances.

The world had gone insane, the chantry falling into chaos, the mages and Templars acting like unruly children.

Today, he hoped to change that, at least as far as his son was concerned.

The Bann leaned back in his chair, a satisfied belch escaped him.

Nicholai, always keeping his manners, said nothing, he had gotten his manners from his mother.

Lucky him, the Bann thought.

"I heard about those Templar garrisons outside of Starkhaven," the Bann said conversationally.

Nicholai smirked.

The Bann pinned him with an accusing look.

"Your doing?"

The mage shrugged.

"Five camps of mages were burned. The people there slaughtered to the last man."

"Unfortunate," Bann Pieter said, "But that is war."

"True," Nicholai agreed, "But three of those camps were **not** involved in the fighting, they were made up of isolationist and loyalist mages simply trying to stay out of it. They had injured with them, apprentices, some of them young children."

Nicholai's smile turned predatory.

"I thought it best that we send the Templars a message."

The Bann's eyes narrowed.

"That you did," he said, "The Knight-Captain of that last garrison was a cousin of the Teyrn of Ostwick."

Nicholai gave him an arched look.

"Really," he said dryly, "I would have thought a relative of the Teyrn would have been trained better."

He shook his head.

"Oh well, I guess he doesn't have to worry about enduring his family's shame."

Bann Pieter slammed his fist down on the table making it jump.

His son did not even flinch.

"You think this is a game?!" he growled, "Do you?"

Nicholai looked at him coldly.

"Not at all, Father," he said, "This is **war**. You taught me well how to fight one."

His smile returned.

"I probably could have taught the Teyrn's cousin about that, if I hadn't had to cut off his head, oh well…oops."

The Bann frowned at him.

"Your humor does you little credit," he said.

Maybe," his son said, "but it keeps me sane. The people who turned to me for help needed that. Too many mages have gone mad in this stupid war, turning to blood magic and demons."

Nicholai shook his head.

"They give us all a bad name."

Bann Pieter leaned forward.

"Then perhaps it is time to stop fighting, lad," he said.

Nicholai tilted his head curiously.

"You think we should just walk back into the circle, let the Templars make us all tranquil, neuter us like misbehaving hounds?"

"The chantry is trying to restore order. If even one circle returned, that might prompt the others to follow suit."

Nicholai frowned.

"And what is to stop the Templars from simply massacring us in our beds?"

"The chantry will deal with the Templars.

"How? I suppose they could turn to the Seekers of Truth, but…wait…the Seekers are now **leading** the Templars. The rumor we hear in the camps is that they are organizing in Val Royeaux, all those who are not staying here to keep us busy. The rumor is that the Lord Seeker Lucius is considering crowning himself both head of the chantry and Emperor, that he wished to declare a new exalted march against the mages."

"Insanity," the Bann said shaking his head, "The Orlesian nobles would never accept that son."

"Well considering they are tearing up the Dales fighting over the crown, they might not have a choice. Celene or Gaspard might return to capital only to be executed by the new order."

"Justinia **won't** let that happen," Bann Pieter growled.

"And who told you that, the Grand Cleric?"

"Among others."

Nicholai snorted with amusement.

"You will forgive me if I do not take them at their word father," he said, "The chantry could not keep their own Templars in line, the Seekers have betrayed and left the Divine's side. How long until it all falls to pieces?"

Bann Trevelyan shook his head.

"You can't win this son," he said, "Even if you defeat the Templars, all of Thedas will rise up against you. They will never let you rule."

The mage sighed.

"I'm not looking to rule anything, Father. We are not looking to rule," the mage shook his head, "We're just trying to survive, and right now, I don't see any easy way to do that."

"You can trust the chantry," he said, "Go to the Divine, if the mages stand with the chantry…"

"They would never have us, father. Too many fear us, and those that don't aren't strong enough to keep the zealots at bay."

Nicholai shook his head.

"You taught me how to lead people father. You taught me to be strong and remain true to the goal that I had set for myself. Well…right now that goal is to protect those mages that have come to me seeking leadership. I will use every tool in my arsenal to protect them."

He sighed.

"I know the war is not going well. We've gotten lucky a few times, but...it cannot last. There are too many warriors in the Templar order, we will likely have to retreat from the Free Marches link up with Grand Enchanter Fiona and her people, but even that won't likely be enough."

The Bann glared at his son.

"If there is no chance at victory, then why…?"

"Why continue to fight," his son said with a wry smile, "Because we have no choice, the chance of compromise died in Kirkwall and in the White Spire."

Bann Pieter shook his head.

"Then come **home** ," he offered, "There is no reason to die with your fellows, we will protect you. Your family **will** protect you."

The mage smiled sadly.

"You would _try_ ," he said, "You might even be able do it for a while, but eventually, the Templars or the chantry will decide I'm a threat. They will pay some servant to either poison my food, or slit my throat while I slept."

Nicholai Trevelyan shook his head.

"I would rather die the man you taught me to be, than die like some lamb offered to the slaughter."

The Bann frowned.

He frowned because he knew what would need to be done. He knew what his allies in the chantry would demand. The Trevelyans had been loyal allies to the chantry for generations.

Yes, he knew what needed to be done, but that did not mean he had to like it.

He…he loved Nicholai, both the boy he had been, and the man he had become. If not for his blighted magic, he would have been Bann one day, perhaps even Teyrn if he had married wisely and well.

Pieter Trevelyan sighed.

He had never said it, but he was _proud_ of his son. Nicholai had made the best of a bad situation. He had risen up through the ranks of the circle, when the rebellion began, he had taken charge of his people, and led them well, had he been born without magic, there was no limit that his son might have gone, but now…now…

The Bann closed his eyes.

There was only one place that this could lead now.

"Can't I talk you out of this?" he asked his son, "Can't I convince you to come home?"

Nicholai gave him a sad smile.

"I'm sorry Father," he said, "But I have to be who I am, both as a mage, and your son."

The mage chuckled.

"No Trevelyan has ever run from a fight, I will **not** be the first."

The Bann nodded.

He understood.

The mage rose, and offered his father a courtly bow. Once the Bann would have risen and embraced him, but that was long ago, and they had grown apart since then…

So far apart.

Nicholai kept his emotions hidden behind a mask of indifference, the same one his father wore.

It was better than letting the other know the truth.

"Goodbye Father," he said, "Thanks for the lovely meal."

The mage turned on his heel, scooped up his staff, and walked off to join his sell-swords.

Bann Pieter watched him go, a cold knot forming in his gut.

He knew what had to be done, both for their family, and the chantry.

He sighed heavily, and motioned for his steward to join him."

"Yes, Milord?" the man asked.

The Bann's eyes narrowed.

"Send word to Natalya," he said, "Tell her I have a job for her."

The Steward blinked.

Natalya Song was the official bard of House Trevelyan, their main singer and storyteller.

She was also a skilled assassin, as the man well knew.

"Mi...Milord," the Steward stammered.

The Bann glared at him.

" **Just do it, damn it!"** he growled.

The man hurried off.

Bann Pieter shook his head; he continued to watch as his son vanished into the mists.

He sighed.

This would likely be the last time they spoke, and yet he had not said what he had should have said years ago, not even in the end.

The Bann sighed.

He had been too proud, too stubborn, just like Nicholai.

They really were two of a kind.

 _Damn it._

He shook his head, and cracked open the bottle of wine, he poured himself a full goblet and downed it with two gulps.

He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and almost cried.

Damn it.

He shook his head.

"I love you son," he growled under his breath.

"I love you."


	5. The Price of a Song

**The Price of a Song**

"I need you to kill my son."

Natalya paused, her cup of tea a mere eyelash from her lips. When the Bann had called her in the middle of the night she had suspected it was something major. Her patron was not a man who made hasty or frivolous decisions, at least not without a very good reason.

 _His latest order seemed to dispute that._

They were currently sitting in the Bann's study in his estate in the city of Ostwick. They sat across from each other in two thick Burgundy colored arm chairs, though the light from the fireplace this late at night had turned the comfortable chairs the color of dried blood. In the daylight the room was egg-shell white, trimmed in the finest gold furnishings. It was said the Teyrn himself sat in this room every Tuesday, he and Bann Trevelyan were close friends, and had been since they had both been young men. He would visit with his old comrade and they would play wicked grace, smoke their pipes and talk the business of the high nobility.

Natalya often wondered how many deaths had been discussed in this room. Over the years she had ended several lives for the Bann. How many of those were favors for the ruler of Ostwick?

It might have been a good idea to find out.

Most people seeing Natalya on the street would never guess she was House Trevelyan's personal spy and assassin. For one she did _not_ look the part. She was slender with dark blonde hair. Her pale creamy skin and long divine legs spoke more of pleasure than pain. Her green almond shaped cat-like eyes twinkled with merriment, but could turn as cold as ice when the situation called for it.

Her eyes turned that cold now.

She arched an eyebrow while she digested her patron's latest request. Bann Trevelyan sat before her with an patient scowl on his face, no doubt wondering what this latest…request was going to cost him.

Pieter Trevelyan was almost fifty now, but that did not make him any less intimidating. He was still a huge bear of a man. Strong arms with shoulder length dirty blonde hard, and a matching beard streaked with gray. Green eyes peered out from beneath bushy eyebrows, eyes that could be both calculating and cunning. He still retained the size and broad shoulders of his youth, but a softness around the middle clearly showed that the man's glory days were behind him.

Natalya frowned.

She had served her master well these past ten years. She had had her first mission for him at thirteen, and killed her first target at the tender age of fifteen. Like her mother before her, Natalya had never shirked her duty to House Trevelyan.

Mother had died in Orlais, carrying out some mission of importance for the family. It was not surprising of course; rarely did a bard live to see old age. After that, she had been raised as a ward by Bann Pieter and Lady Tatiana.

She owed them much, but was this request worth even _that_?

She sipped her tea before returning it to its saucer. She gave her patron an arched look. This latest task went beyond the norm.

She would require more information before carrying it out.

What she had liked most about serving the Bann was that she did not need to ask questions. He always seemed to know what she was thinking.

They were both clever people after all.

Clever people knew what to expect from one another.

"You are aware of Nicholai's…work with the mage rebellion are you not?" he asked her.

"I know the Ostwick Circle rebelled," she answered, "I know they struck before the Templars could carry out the Right of Annulment. After the fighting was over, the bulk of the mages escaped, and the Teyrn exiled both the mages and the Templars from this city."

"Indeed," the Bann growled, "The Knight-Commander ordered the death of Lord Gregory and his wife. They had tried to shield their daughter when she fled the circle. The Templars stormed the house, cut them down and set the entire estate ablaze."

Natalya shook her head.

"The Knight-Commander is lucky he and his men were only exiled. The Gregory family was well respected here in Ostwick."

" _We_ were the lucky ones, lass," the Bann added, "The Templars here outnumbered the city guard, had Lord Seeker Lambert ordered it, they could have seized the entire city before we even had a chance to react."

Again Natalya arched her eyebrow.

"Would the Templars have done such a thing?"

"Who could say? They have cut their leash from the chantry, they no longer listen to the words of the Divine or the mothers beneath her," he replied, "They are just mad dogs, the mages too. They are at war now fighting for independence, and the chance to be the new power here in Thedas."

The bard shook her head.

She had heard those stories and more. She had heard about the civil war in Orlais. Celene and Grand Duke Gaspard battled each other for the throne. The Dales burned as the two nobles scrambled for power. Now the mages and Templars were at each other's throats…

It seemed that the whole world had gone mad.

The world was in chaos, but in chaos, a smart person could also find opportunity.

"Has the chantry made any statement about all this…unpleasantness, yet?"

"No," the Bann sighed, "And even if they do, I doubt either side would listen. There has been too much blood between Templars and mages. First Kirkwall, and now the rumored assassination attempt by the Templars of all the First Enchanters, Enchanters that the Divine herself called to Val Royeaux…"

Pieter Trevelyan shook his head.

"The Chantry had lost control of its dogs. They may drag us all down if we are not careful."

Natalya gave her patron a sly smile.

"Has the grand cleric requested that you… _handle_ this matter with Nicholai?"

The Bann snorted.

"House Trevelyan has supported the chantry for years. We have many allies there, if _they_ fall, **we** may fall."

The old man finished his tea with a single gulp. He looked down at the empty cup and rose with an angry snarl. He pulled a decanter of Antivan brandy from a shelf near his desk.

The bard frowned.

It was rare that her patron drank; his elder brother had died in a hunting accident when he was young. Rumor said that the boy had been drinking heavily that day.

After that, the Bann had had little use for alcohol.

He poured himself two fingers of brandy and gulped that down to. He sighed and once again returned to his chair. Natalya said nothing.

She respected her patron that respect needed to be honored.

"The mothers fear that Nicholai is using his family name to gather both supplies and support for the mage rebellion. He may be my son, but he is jeopardizing everything this family has spent an age building. I cannot allow that to happen."

He crossed his large hands before his face. For a moment he refused to look his agent in the eye.

"Nicholai was always fond of you," he said, "You can get close enough to him, and convince him to let his guard down."

The Bann shook his head.

"This is not an easy thing I ask."

She crossed her legs demurely, and gave him a knowing look.

"What does Stefan and Lady Tatiana think of all this?"

The Bann coughed.

"They do not know, and I expect **you** to keep it that way. Nicholai may be a mage, but he is still a member of this family."

"It is a harsh thing I ask, but I do not ask it lightly. The chantry will restore order when all this is done. It is necessary for this family to be on the winning side."

Natalya nodded. She understood the value of sacrificing one child to save an entire family.

After all, she had been such a sacrifice…once.

She once again sipped at her tea.

"How do you want it done?" she asked.

"Painless if you can, quick and clean, leave evidence that the Templars were behind it, the First Enchanters will believe that. Who knows it might even convince some of them to come back and help the chantry put the Templars back into line."

Natalya considered that. She questioned the Bann's logic, but would not disobey. He had taken the Templars leaving the chantry as a personal betrayal, and had been pushing the mothers here in Ostwick to create a new order from scratch, one that could hunt and slay the rebels and be done with it.

So far he was having little success. If he had promised the mothers that he could eliminate Nicholai that might go a long way to accomplishing his goals, but still…still…

Natalya pursed her lips.

Still… _killing_ Nicholai? They had grown up together at least until he had been taking to the circle at age eleven. She still looked at his younger brother Stefan as a friend, even though their relationship had become strained these last ten years.

If Stefan found out she had done this…

Well…it was best that he **never** found out.

Her expression again turned unreadable, the amused look of a noble born girl.

"I can do it," she promised.

The Bann nodded.

"Good child, excellent."

"But it will be _expensive_ ," she added, "This is not just some merchant's son, or a down on his luck chevalier."

The Bann's eyes narrowed.

"We have never had to haggle over price before?"

"You have never asked to have a member of this house… _removed_ before."

Pieter Trevelyan grunted.

"I will pay you double your standard rate.

"Not enough," She answered.

He blinked.

"What…what do you mean?"

"This has to be handled delicately; I need more than the promise of gold."

"Jewels then," he offered her, "That summer house you liked, perhaps some new furs as well," the Bann was a rich man, he could afford all those things, but what she wanted was far more valuable.

Natalya smiled.

She hoped he was willing to meet her price.

"I do like baubles," she replied, "but considering that I'm going to be infiltrating the mage rebellion in the middle of a war against the Templar Order…."

She shook her head.

"If I do this for you, I will need to disappear, and reinvent myself after; a new life is not easy to come by…"

A smile sprang back on her lips.

"Fortunately, I have a new life in mind already; all it requires is something very expensive from you. Not expensive in wealth perhaps, but still expensive."

The Bann gave her a suspicious look.

"Name your price, girl."

She gave him a sly look.

"Do you know Ser Oliver Pentaghast?"

"Of course," the Bann snorted, "Handsome lad, eighteenth in line for the Nevarran throne."

"Thirteenth," she corrected him, "there have been some… _changes_ in his fortune lately. Two cousins were executed for treason. Two more left Nevarra, a third died in a " _hunting"_ accident."

The Bann gave her a cold look.

"Have you been busy, my dear?"

"Merely amusing myself," she purred, "Anyway, Oliver wants to ask for my hand in marriage, but his family does not want him marrying some low born girl with such… _dubious_ …parentage."

Her patron pinned her with an icy glare.

"What do you want from me, child?"

She leaned forward, meeting her patron almost eye to eye, green eyes staring into green eyes, both more familiar that either would admit.

 _Some secrets were impossible to deny, especially when they looked you in the face._

Natalya smiled at him.

"What I want. What I **need** is recognition. I need proof of noble blood. Proof that I'm not simply a songbird from Ostwick, I cannot be a girl without a father to Oliver."

She sat back, but not before pouring herself another cup of tea. She sat back in the chair proudly, unbound.

Every bit the noble that she should have been, everything that Bann Trevelyan had denied these last twenty three years.

"You provide me with that, and Nicholai **will** die. You will lose the child that you lost to the chantry years ago, but gain something far more valuable.

She smirked hungrily.

"Your blood will revitalize the failing Pentaghast line. When King Markus goes to the Maker, Oliver will rise, the new king, and he will have a queen by his side, a queen with Trevelyan blood."

The Bann snorted. He no doubt knew of her dalliance with Ser Oliver, but even he had not grasped how far her ambition reached.

She had been Lady Song of House Trevelyan for _too_ long, storyteller and minstrel of this great house for too long. Now, she had the chance to reinvent herself. All she needed now was his word, his endorsement, and she would rise higher than anyone could have imagined.

Queen Natalya of Nevarra, wife of King Oliver I.

All her patron had to do was say, yes.

Pieter Trevelyan leaned back and shook his head. He ran his fingers through his bushy beard. When he looked at her, his eyes were stern and firm.

"You would have to leave Ostwick," he said, "And **never** return."

She bit her lower lip.

"We all make sacrifices for the greater good, _this_ will be mine."

He sighed, at first she wondered if he was going to change his mind. She wondered if he would call the whole thing off.

He looked at his empty wine goblet, no doubt thinking of the consequences of his actions, not just now, but in the years to come.

Finally he nodded.

Natalya smiled.

"It may take some time," she said.

"Time you have," he said, "A year at most, this matter must be handled before next winter.

He gave her a cool look

"There are many who await the results of this job with baited breath."

"I won't keep them waiting," she promised.

She rose and bowed deeply to him. A cruel smile graced her lips.

"Until next time, My Lord."

"Until next time," he said gruffly.

She turned to leave; the servant's entrance would be unlocked. By morning, supplies and a strong steed would be ready for her.

She would begin her search for Nicholai Trevelyan, Circle Mage of Ostwick, and at the end of that journey…

A brand new life awaited her.

"Natalya?"

She paused. It was rare that the Bann spoke her name out loud.

He stood beside his desk, pouring himself another drink. Their eyes did not meet, there was no need to.

He knew that she would carry out his bidding.

He knew what he meant to her.

"Good luck, child," he said softly, "Do not fail me."

She gave him a cunning smile.

"Have no fear… _Father_."

She left the study with swing in her step and a little extra sway in her hips.

Soon she would be Lady Song no more. She would no longer be Natalya the bastard.

She would be Natalya Trevelyan, and one day Queen Natalya Pentaghast of Nevarra.

…And all for the cost of one mages life…a beloved mage perhaps, but many were the sacrifices when one needed to secure one's future.

She smiled wickedly.

A new life awaited her...

…All for the price of a song.


	6. Asch's Crossing

**Chapter 6: Asch's Crossing**

 _Asch's Crossing_ has fallen.

It was those words that true Nicholai and his advisors across the Free Marches this day. The Crossing had been a place of Templar power, boasting both a full chantry and a Templar garrison, larger even than the ones Trevelyan and his allies had destroyed in their bid to weaken the Templars grip on the Minanter River and thus give the mages a way out of they needed one.

The mage leader frowned slightly.

On the surface, this victory was a welcome one, and badly needed. Despite his success outside of Starkhaven not everything had gone the mages way. The first garrison had fallen quickly, the mages had had the element of surprise, and had managed to secure garrison before it had a chance to fully come alert. The second had been harder, word of the mages' attack had reached them, and though surprise has still been on the rebels' side, the fight had been an even one. By the time they had reached the third, the Templars had been ready.

Their third victory had come at a heavy cost.

Trevelyan had lost a third of his fighters winning that victory. Kurtz had insisted using their sell-swords to soften up the Templars first, soften them up, and protect the mages they would need to deal real damage to the Templars. The plan **had** worked, but the sell-swords had gotten mauled, more to the point they had lost a large portion of the willing volunteers who had come to fight for the cause. Those men and women had been brave and full of fire, valuable to the cause, but at the same time their passions made them reckless, they had charged in too soon, early in the battle, and skilled Templar archers and swordsmen had cut them to pieces.

Nicholai remembered well the faces of his troops after the fighting had finally ceased, most wore looks of grim determination, but at the same time he could see the horror of what they had faced on the wounded.

They had intended to make a statement, and they had, but they had paid a price for it, a heavy one.

Lamont hoped that this victory would be enough to win over more support for their side. If those that opposed the Templars realized that the Maker was not protecting these men then they had a greater shot of driving them out of the Free Marches. Kurtz agreed with that idea, to a point.

If Trevelyan intended to continue the fight they would need fresh fighters and new allies with access to supplies. They could only raid so much, and as merchants suffered loss of coin because of the war, any spring of goodwill they held towards the combatants would likely dry up.

It was for that reason that he and his advisors rode to _Asch's Crossing_. He hoped to negotiate a partnership with the mages that pulled off this victory; he suspected that they had likely suffered for it, probably as much as his own forces had suffered for their win in Starkhaven.

We need allies, he thought to himself.

It is time we had some.

Lamont and Gillian had put what sources they still had available to them to find out who had carried out the successful attack. The Loyalist and the Lucrosian still had friends outside of the circle, priests or business contacts that were still willing to talk them. He was surprised when he realized that he did not recognize the names of the mages who had taken out the Templar garrison. They were certainly not from Ostwick.

They referred to themselves as Mages Sylvia and Valasca, libertarians both, formerly of the Circle of Starkhaven. They had survived the burning of their circle eight years ago, and even though they had only been apprentices at the time managed to stay one step ahead of the Templars.

According to Gillian's contacts both had trained under Enchanter Gaius of Starkhaven, Trevelyan remembered that name of course. Gaius had always been a bit of a firebrand. Nicholai had even heard the man speak once at one of the meetings of the college in Cumberland, the man had been more than vocal on his opinions of mage independence. When Starkhaven had burned he had done his best to stay free, continuing to write treatises on mage liberation, and making new contacts among the nobles and merchants of the Free Marches to try to build for himself a new powerbase.

Gaius' tale had ended five years ago. The Templars had managed to catch him on the road as he travelled between one noble's home to another. Gaius had ended up seeking refuge in an abandoned farm; he had refused to surrender, believing that the Templars would kill him simply for speaking out against their draconian policies.

The story went that he had committed suicide, burning the building down around himself rather than surrender, though there was no shortage of those that suspected that the Templars burned him alive rather than waste any more time trying to get him to come out.

Either story was possible; Trevelyan was surprised to find that any of his followers still lived. Most had either fled or died trying to avenge their leader.

Before beginning this journey, Gillian had pulled Nicholai aside; the dark haired mage had wanted him to make sure that understood the value of this meeting.

"Try to keep an open mind," she said, "If these women were Gaius' students they likely inherited his fiery ideals."

She had smiled slightly.

"They're likely not too fond of Lucrosians or Aequitarians. We might have endure a little of their scorn."

Trevelyan smiled at her.

"I will be on my best behavior," he promised.

"Thank you," the Lucrosian said lowering her head slightly, and if Trevelyan was not mistaken, blushing slightly.

The sight surprised him.

Before the war, he had only met with Gillian in passing, and only then to discuss business. Over the last few months he had started to realize that there was more to her than a desire to earn coin. That the woman did not have a coin purse where her heart should be.

It was…a pleasing realization.

Kurtz had insisted that Trevelyan take a small company of fighters with him. If there was to be any negotiation with these other mages it was best that both sides saw the strength of the other, and if the Templars managed to organize quick enough the two groups might have to fight their way out of _Asch's Crossing_.

It was only a matter of time until the Lord Seeker's attack dogs came to the Crossing seeking to avenge their fallen brothers.

Trevelyan agreed. He left Gilbert to watch of their men while he, Kurtz, Gillian, and Lamont journeyed to _Asch's Crossing_. He hoped that his victories in Starkhaven would convince this Sylvia and Valasca that he was a valuable ally.

They could not do this alone, Nicholai realized.

None of them could.

If they stood united, there was a chance of forcing the Templars to negotiate.

If they fractured, the mage rebellion was dead, and likely…so were they.

The thought filled him with grim determination.

They needed this alliance.

They would have at.

IOI

" _ **Andraste's Mercy!"**_

Nicholai did not have to look at Gillian to know that her expression was one of shock and horror. All around him he could hear murmurs of disbelief. Even Lamont, who had proven that he had no problem killing Templars, was shocked to silence by the sights that greeted them outside _Asch's Crossing._

Trevelyan shook his head.

 _Figures,_ he thought.

 _I should have known._

Outside the gates of _Asch's Crossing_ were the bodies of no less than twenty Templars. The mages who had attacked this place had staked the warriors up as a warning no doubt. The bodies were burned and twisted, their mouths and eyes suggested that they had died in intense agony, the fact that they had been slain by unnatural methods were clear to any who could see.

Trevelyan's groups approach had been noticed by the village's new defenders, five armed men emerged and ordered them to stop.

"Nicholai," he heard Gillian murmur.

"I see it Gilly," he whispered.

The mage leader shook his head.

Yes, he could see it.

The warriors that challenged them spoke in a flat monotone, more in keeping with a tranquil than a sell sword, but one look into the men's eyes revealed the truth about these men. These were not willing fighters, or killers hired to fight for coin.

These men were pawns.

Every one of the fighters had eyes that glowed red. They looked upon the dead Templars with a look of almost glee. It would be clear even to a blind man that these men were ensorcelled, bound by spells to increase their blood lust, and make them willing agents of the mages that now commanded them.

Nicholai, who had tried to remain loyal to the circle's ideals, was appalled by what he saw. Yet he still held his tongue.

 _We need this alliance_ , he thought.

 _We **need** it._

One of the guards left to inform his mistresses of their coming. Kurtz rode up beside Trevelyan, if the sell-sword was as horrified at the mages he did not show it.

"Steady lad," he advised.

"Steady."

Nicholai took a deep breath, and let it out slowly, trying to ignore the smell of decay, and carrion.

He had wondered how these mages had taken _Asch's Crossing_.

Now…he **knew**.

The gates opened, admitting Trevelyan and his party. His warriors and fellow mages looked around nervously, no doubt fearing what they would see inside. Their leader had a feeling he knew, though he hoped to the Maker that he was wrong.

This war had caused enough horror already.

Now…it seemed that it had spawned something more.

A strange mist seemed to cover the ground of the conquered village. The sense of dark magic was stronger here than it was outside the gates. The houses and shops they passed were dark, curtains pulled over windows; not a single person looked down on the group as they passed by.

Lamont held a perfumed handkerchief to his nose and mouth. You could smell death here, and it was clearly not coming from outside the walls. The group passed what had once been a town watch barracks, though a place of this size likely only housed one or two protectors. The Templars would have held the lion's share of the weapons in this place.

The place was a burned ruin now, on one of the few remaining stone walls someone had wrote a political statement in ash, just seeing the words turned Nicholai's stomach, because he recognized what those words meant.

 _ **ANDERS LIVES!**_

Trevelyan shook his head.

Part of him wondered if the mad apostate would have approved of all this? He had murdered hundreds in Kirkwall to make his point, and now mages were continuing to kill in his name.

Nicholai wondered if that would have satisfied the maniac.

Still the group pushed on, their escort had said that his mistresses would meet them in the town square.

The mage leader pursed his lips.

One thing was for certain.

These negotiations would not be boring.

IOI

"From here we will begin building our brave new world!"

"Yes! Soon our forces will strike out, liberating town after town, all with fall on their knees and pay homage to us!"

"Yeah, they will kneel!"

"Kneel!"

Mad laughter filled the village square.

Trevelyan and his fellows entered the square. Once again, he was not surprised by the depravity that he saw.

He saw only five mages three lounging around, enjoying the spoils of their victory, while two girls danced arm in arm laughing and twirling without a care in the world. People, likely citizens of this village, stood guard with scythes and pikes as their masters celebrated cackled and planned their next move. Like the men at the gates these also had red glowing eyes, the same vacant stares that promised no mercy if battle was joined.

Trevelyan tried to appear nonchalant. He hoped that something good might still come out of this, though he was not entirely sure what that could possibly be.

These mages had fallen far, that was clear, but perhaps there was still hope, perhaps there was still time to get them back on the right path.

That is when he heard Gillian gasp, and point to their right.

That…is when Trevelyan first noticed the shades.

The low level demons glided from shadow to shadow along the sides of the buildings. They made no move to attack either Trevelyan or the conquerors of this village, which suggested that the latter had likely summoned them.

To the right of the square sat a large cage, even in the fading light he could make out the terrified faces of the villagers. The look of fear on their faces was amplified even more by the chantry behind them, the chantry in flames.

Black and silver fire raged inside the building, Trevelyan felt no heat, but that was not surprising for something so unnatural, he…

"So, _**this**_ is them!"

Trevelyan turned and smiled.

Two mages emerged from the shadows.

Both girls were dark skinned, hinting at Rivaini blood. The shorter one who led had her hair pulled up in a tight bun, while her friend, a head taller, let hers flow free down to her waist. Both wore robes of the circle, though they had clearly been modified by the girls over the years. Several gold chains and other fancy baubles adorned their necks and ears. They both carried staves, and wore wide hungry smiles.

Trevelyan tried not to tense when he came under their eyes; those…those were the most disturbing feature of all when it came to the two mages.

Both girls could be called attractive, but their eyes spoke of something else. Their dark eyes were cold and pitiless, they had a wild look about them, a look that suggested that sanity for these two was a distance memory.

"You're Trevelyan?" the shorter one asked, looking at him like he was a piece of meat waiting to be devoured.

"Ladies," he said offering them both a courtly bow.

They both giggled, it was a sound that made the two seem even more unstable.

The smaller one's grin widened.

"I'm Valasca," she said, "This is Sylvia."

The other mage gave him a cheery wave.

Valasca smirked.

" **We** rule here."

"So _we_ see," Lamont said looking more disgusted than Trevelyan felt.

Sylvia's eyes rose, she nearly snarled, her posture that of a predator ready to spring.

"Lamont means no disrespect ladies," he said, trying to draw the crazed blood mage's attention back to him.

He tried to appear relaxed; showing fear around these two would be a seriously bad idea.

He glanced at the stone steps of the chantry, he could not tell in the magical light, but it looked like those steps were stained with blood, too much to have been caused by simple battle.

He could guess what had caused those stains.

The other three mages, none old enough to have ever made enchanter watched the exchange with the look of loyal dogs looking on their masters. If these were more than apprentices Trevelyan would be greatly surprised, it was not hard imagine why the young had turned to the two. They must have seemed very impressive to the unenlightened.

The taller one, Sylvia, grinned fiercely at him.

"You killed those Templar bases outside of Starkhaven?" she asked.

He nodded.

The girl giggled.

"You're a soddening hero!"

She looked at her friend. Valasca sneered.

"We keep this up," she said, "soon all the Free Marches will be ours."

She gestured to the villagers standing guard.

"This lot were fools," she spat, "They thought their precious Templars could protect them."

Sylvia giggled and jumped up and down a like a child on Satinalia morning.

She told them how they had taken this place so quickly. The Templars had been forced to pull back their forces in the area, the bulk of them heading down to Kirkwall to defend the Gallows. Not wishing to abandon this outpost they had left only a token force here.

It had been easy for the two mages and their allies to overwhelm it.

They had been careful, patient. Ensorcelling any merchant or noble who entered the city, the Templars had been forced to cut their lyrium rations when Sylvia had taken the smugglers that had been main contact for the garrison here. The two had waited as lyrium withdrawal had taken its toll. Then, when the warriors had been at their weakest the two had struck.

The ensorcelled townsfolk had killed the Templars in their sleep. Some had fought back, but the death of the villagers had provided the perfect fuel for the mages to summon and bind the shades that now protected them. shades that obeyed only the two leaders. They had passed their secrets on to their followers and would be more than happy to teach the spells they used to Trevelyan and his people.

They were more than willing to form a partnership with the Ostwick mages.

They had power beyond anything anyone in the circle had even dreamed of.

Valasca was especially pleased by that.

She told Trevelyan that this was only beginning. She intended to use this place as a base that the mages could use to strike out at the other villages and towns. The strong would serve them, and the weak would be fuel to bring more shades, and with time and practice, larger demons in to serve them. Soon they would be strong enough to start taking the major cities.

The two girls grinned at each other. They were glad to see that Trevelyan had come and sought them out. They believed, between the three of them that they could build a mage homeland, and that no Templars would be able to stand against them.

Nicholai listened to their words, though he was far from convinced.

He resisted the urge to shake his head.

Defeating a skeleton garrison of lyrium addled Templars was nothing like fighting a battle hardened army. He had seen what the Templars could do outside of Starkhaven. No doubt a Templar army was even now marching here to crush these two Maleficarum and their pets. The Crossing was **no** fortress; the walls would not last long under heavy attack. Templars would sweep through the demons and ensorcelled slaves and then…then…

Nicholai's brow furrowed.

They _needed_ allies, but at the same time, if he let these girl and their followers in, who knew how many of his own people they would corrupt, they might even convince some of his opponents to seek to oppose him, or worse teach their foul skills to others.

He could save them, or at least try to, but what did that say about him, about what they were trying to do?

He glanced over at the villagers peering through the bars in their cage. He saw fear there, terror, but he saw something else to.

He saw the flicker of hate.

These people would provide the Templars with ample evidence that the mage rebellion was evil; they practiced blood magic, and held congress with demons. He could see it in Sylvia and Valasca's eyes; they were only one or two steps from becoming abominations. If they faced death at Templar hands who knew what horrors they would unleash.

And if they did, it would be _his_ fault.

It would be all **their** fault.

"What say you Trevelyan?" Valasca said grinning.

"You ready to help us?" Sylvia added.

Nicholai glanced at his fellows. Kurtz was silent. Lamont continued to look on the two girls with distaste. Gillian…

He blinked.

Gillian gave him a curt nod.

Trevelyan pursed his lips.

She knew what he needed to do, and…she accepted it.

He turned to the two Maleficarum, they were both still grinning.

He smiled.

His staff was still strapped to his back; they no doubt thought him defenseless.

Valasca offered him her hand to kiss, to seal the deal so to speak.

It took Trevelyan only a few seconds.

His sword cleared its scabbard before the two blood mages even realized what was happening.

He took a step back, spun and swung with all his might.

Valasca's head came away from her shoulders, her grin still plastered on her pretty little face, the strange violet glow in her eyes fading along with her life.

Her body slumped over.

Sylvia wailed, her eyes flashing with fel energy, she tried to raise her hand, to strike Trevelyan.

Kurtz dagger sailed through the air, the blade buried itself in her chest.

The girl staggered back her features twisting as her demonic connections began to take hold.

Trevelyan swung his sword again.

The second blood mage's head joined her friend's on the ground. The abomination she _would_ have become died stillborn.

 _Asch's Crossing_ turned into a battlefield.

IOI

It took Trevelyan and his allies all night to cleanse the small village. On the surface it should have been a massacre, they should not have had a chance.

The death of the two senior blood mages had changed that.

Their three followers had tried to rally their slaves, but with the two girls dead, the demons were no longer bound to serve them. The shades attacked the mages and their ensorcelled pawns. The more strong willed of the townsfolk were freed, and tried to kill both the mages and their pet demons.

Trevelyan did his best not to harm these people. When one attacked him he used a stunning spell to disable the man even as he engaged the shade trying to feast on him.

Kurtz shot him a dirty look. The sell-sword had supported him, but it was clear what he thought.

 _The high road was pretty, but you have a hard time marching up it._

Trevelyan knew that, but he also knew that he could not ally with these women in good conscience.

Such mages were proof of everything that the Templars said about mages.

Trevelyan would be damned before he let himself be painted as evil by the foolish.

He shook his head.

If he had learned anything from this, he knew one thing was now clear.

Not all mages were their allies.

They needed to be more careful, and make sure that nightmares like Asch's Crossing never happen again.

As the sun rose the next day, the fighting was over. The demons were dead, but so were three of Trevelyan's fellows. Lamont had been injured, but he said that he would be alright with time.

Gillian had come through unscathed.

Trevelyan was happy for that.

He turned to the villagers in the cage; he blasted away the lock, and stepped back. Slowly, tentatively, the people began to emerge.

Trevelyan swung his leg up onto his horse. He did not expect thanks from these people, but he hoped that they would understand.

He sighed heavily.

"You have my apologies for what you have endured," he shouted down to them, "I hope that you will not blame us all for the actions of a few criminals."

He shook his head.

"We are marchers, just like you. All we want is a chance to live in peace."

He looked down at the bodies of the fallen Maleficarum; they had been piled in the center of the square and burned.

It was **better** than they deserved.

The foul mist that had gripped the village began to dissipate. The surviving villagers looked at Nicholai with a mix of fear and anger.

"Mages _did_ this to you," he said, "But mages also **saved** you, we risked _our_ lives, and lost friends and allies to save you. Remember that."

He sighed again.

"We are _not_ what you think, _not_ all of us."

He turned his horse, and rode for the gates. Kurtz and his men had secured them before they freed the prisoners, just in case.

Trevelyan and his allies rode out into the Free Marches. They had not found allies here, but he hoped that they had not made enemies.

His eyes narrowed.

Perhaps, at least one of the survivors here would take what he had said to heart; perhaps they would tell the Templars and least start someone in the order asking questions.

Perhaps they had taken at least a step towards ending this war in a way that would be acceptable for everyone.

Perhaps.


	7. Silver and Poison

**Chapter 7: Silver and Poison**

Word of _Asch's Crossing_ spread like wildfire.

The Templars were furious, not only had the mages destroyed one of their strongholds, but they had subjected the innocent to the vilest of magics, corrupting souls, and damning themselves in the process.

From his seat in the Gallows, the Knight-Commander assigned by Lord Seeker Lucius swore vengeance.

The Templars that had reclaimed the _Crossing_ took statements from the few survivors. The villagers spoke of infighting among the mages that emboldened the Knight-Lieutenant in charge. As soon as those reports reached Kirkwall, bounties were quickly posted; prices were placed on the heads of all the surviving mages involved.

Nicholai Trevelyan's was the highest of them all.

According to the Templars, Trevelyan had been displeased that his servants had taken such liberties with the people of _Asch's Crossing_. The mage had had his own plans for the survivors, and had executed his own servants for stealing his prey. The Maleficarum had then fled, warning the people that what had happened to them under his servants would seem like a dream should they stand against the mage rebellion again.

In response to this threat, the Templars sent requests for reinforcements. Fresh troops would soon arrive from Orlais and Nevarra. The city of Tantervale, horrified by the depravity committed by Trevelyan and his allies, pledged itself to the Templar cause. The dour, order-loving Tanters welcomed the security that the Templar army would bring.

They pledged to be the seat of power that the order could use to crush the rebels once and for all.

The other city states were surprised by this. More than a few thought the Lord Chancellor was a fool. In eyes of many, the Templars were no better than the mages, they had rejected the chantry, and now apparently had a base from which they could strike at **not** only the mages, but the Marcher cities that had rejected their attempts to cease power.

The Templars now had seats of power in both Kirkwall and Tantervale, and a means to squeeze the Marches into submission.

To the powerful, such a situation could _**not**_ be allowed.

Though they could not act directly, agents began reaching out to the leaders of the mage rebellion, contacts and channels nurtured during years of Circle cooperation were once again opened. They could not openly support the rebels, but they could offer supplies and materiel.

Tantervale suddenly became the focus of the war.

Kirkwall had always been a Templar city; the death of Knight-Commander Meredith Stannard years ago had not changed that. The Champion and her family had been driven into hiding, and once again the City of Chains was the seat of Templar power in the east.

None of the Marchers wished to see the Templars gain yet **another** city. They may have been welcomed guests now, but how long until the order decided to simply replace the Lord Chancellor and declare themselves in charge, if that was allowed it would set a dangerous precedent. None of other city states wished to see that happen.

Plus by taking Tantervale, the Templars could blockade any and all trade from Nevarra; Tantervale's place on the Minanter River was the perfect location to squeeze the other city states into submission. A new garrison in the dour city state would place all of the Free Marches at Lord Seeker Lucius' mercy. Even Starkhaven would not be able to intervene. Not to mention that this new alliance would pave the way for the Templars to bring in as many reinforcements as they needed, and no one would be able to question them. The independence hungry Templars would have the perfect base to not only quell the mages but perhaps take the entire Free Marches if that was their desire.

Kirkwall and Tantervale would become a noose that would hang the city states.

None of them wanted that.

Word began to filter down to the mages, offering anonymous support. The order responded by doubling the bounties on the heads of the mage leadership. Mercenaries and hunters set out from the free cities, eager to collect those rewards.

One such group was camped not far from Starkhaven. For the last month they had been content to collect on smaller bounties taking down renegade mages that had remained apart from the bulk of their brethren.

Among these hunters was Natalya Song.

She was finally closing in on her prey.

IOI

"What are you going to do with your share, Duchess?"

Natalya smiled slightly. The boy who had spoken up, Kylie was his name, was new to the trade, he had an infectious enthusiasm that would lighten the most jaded heart.

Song was a bit jealous. She envied his naiveté, though she recognized that it would not last long.

When the truth of this life settled in, the boy would learn what it meant to be a mercenary.

It was more than a little sad.

She smiled at him, not letting any of her true feelings shine through.

"My money is already spent, boy," she said, "Running an operation like mine isn't cheap."

One of the senior hunters, a man named Kern nodded grimly.

"Listen to Duchess, boy," he said with no small amount of respect.

"She understands what the trade is all about."

Natalya nodded slightly.

A little professional respect was always welcome.

She had been with this group for the last few weeks. No one knew her as Natalya Song of Ostwick, of course. The Duchess was simply another bounty hunter and mercenary that had been operating on and off for years.

With her black leathers, and dyed black hair, few in Ostwick would have recognized her for who she truly was, but that was the whole point.

The Duchess could go places that Natalya Song could not.

The name carried a good reputation in the trade. When she had first approached Kern in Starkhaven, it had been more than enough to peak his interest, after a drink or two, he had been more than willing to let her in.

The Duchess identity had always been one of her favorite disguises. Her mother had originated it, building a reputation among the less than savory portion society in both the Marches and Orlais. Natalya had only taken up the name two years ago, but in that time she had expanded on what her mother had built. Both the name and the identity were useful, they allowed her to pass through the underworld elements of her home with ease.

She smiled slightly to herself, she hated to admit it, but she enjoyed the rough and tumble world that these men and women inhabited. She would miss it when the time came to take up her throne in Nevarra. Oliver would no doubt not wish his queen to engage in such…revels after they were married.

It would be yet another of the joys she would sacrifice for her better life and it would be worth it.

For now, she was simply one of five hunters working the Marches. The Templar bounties meant that there was no shortage of men and women eager to take up the hunt. The other two members of their party, a scar-faced man named Marg who ran the show, and an elven archer named Tiig had been with Kern even before Natalya had joined. She and Kylie were the new faces here, and Marg was slow to trust them, not that she blamed the man.

A smart hunter knew not to trust easily, especially when you had a prisoner in your midst.

They had the mage tied to a small tree, Kern kept the boy quiet with a steady died of mage's bane. Tiig stood off to the side, standing watch with his bow, in case anyone uninvited showed up. Kern lounged against an old stone widdling a piece of wood, while Song and Kylie tended to the stew cooking over their small fire. Marg had not yet returned from meeting with his contacts in Starkhaven. It was getting late, so it was unlikely they would be able to turn the boy over to the Templars until tomorrow morning…

…It was a fact which suited Natalya Song just fine.

Her eyes fell on their prisoner, in her head she continued to work on the next phase of her plan. It wasn't perfect, but she hoped that it would be successful.

Her future with Oliver depended on it.

They had caught the mage four days ago, just a pup really, an apprentice who had tried to flee rather than join the war. Normally the group would have turned him into the Templars already, except for the fact that the boy had once been a member of the Circle of Ostwick, the same Circle that Nicholai had belonged to.

Natalya had smiled when she heard that.

 _At last_ , she thought.

 _She finally had a lead to finding her dear brother._

Now all she had to do was complete the job…

…Despite, or in spite of, her personal feelings.

She frowned slightly.

She still did _**not**_ like this, going after Nicholai, she still cared about him for Andraste's sake, but at the same time the chance at a grand future in Nevarra was not easily rejected. She could do far more as a queen than she could do as a dozen lifetimes as a bard.

She and her beloved Oliver would make the Pentaghast line strong again.

Nicholai's death would be the rebirth of a storied family.

She would be the mother of kings.

All she needed was time, and the courage to do what was needed.

Song intended to see that she had both.

She glanced over at the mage; he had identified himself as Matton Long, apprentice mage. She did not recognize him, but that was not surprising, outside of Nicholai, she had known few of the mages in the circle.

She knew the mages were still hunting for allies; even an apprentice would be welcomed.

After they turned the boy over to the Templars in Starkhaven, she would take her leave of her fellows, and then she would have to see to the boy's release. She did not think that it would be difficult to free him. There were only a few Templars here, the rest having left for either Kirkwall or Tantervale, and with Prince Sebastian still trying to cement his power in the city, most of the guards' attention was elsewhere.

Once she had won the boy's trust, he would lead her to Nicholai, or at least to someone who **could** lead her to Nicholai.

After that, finishing the job would be easy.

Nicholai would be gone, and she would be free to take up her new life.

Marg rode back into camp just as the sun finally set. The boss hunter seemed extremely pleased with himself, smiling broadly from ear to ear.

Natalya's brow furrowed.

Marg was not the type to smile.

She wondered what was going on.

As he dismounted, he threw down a coin purse from his belt, it opened as it hit the ground spilling out a small fortune in silver coins.

Even Natalya's eyes opened a little wider at the sight. Tiig and Kern said nothing, while Kylie almost giggled with excitement.

Natalya glanced up at their leader.

Marg had clearly been busy.

"The Maker favors us friends," he said proudly, "As it turns out this little robe is worth more than we thought."

Natalya gave him an arched look.

"The Templars have agreed to pay more?" she inquired.

"Hardly sounds like the Templars."

The hunter leader chuckled.

"That is because it is **not** the Templars who paid me that," he said pointing down at the open purse.

Again Natalya Song had to suppress a frown.

 _What in Andraste's name was going on?_

It was then that Marg decided to enlighten them.

What he had to say did not please her.

It seemed that Nicholai's victory in Starkhaven had had an unexpected side-effect. Several of the noble houses had lost loved ones when the mages destroyed the Templar garrisons, now several of those families were looking for payback, and they did not really care how they got it.

One of those nobles had contacted Marg.

The man was willing to pay **three** times the going rate for a captured mage. The coins Marg had brought were just a down payment; the rest would arrive when noble had the boy in his custody.

All the hunters had to do was turn their prisoner over and keep their mouths shut. The Starkhaven noble did not see what he was doing as wrong, the Templars were going to execute the boy anyway, that or make him tranquil.

Did it really matter who ended the kid's life?

To Marg, it did not.

The three other hunters did not seem to mind either, even idealistic young Kylie. Not that Natalya was surprised, that was a lot of coin.

Of course, she could not this deal go down.

She needed the boy alive and free.

That would not happen if he was sold to a private client.

No, she realized, she would have to act accordingly…

…and ruthlessly.

She turned her attention back to the stew, on the surface; she was as excited as her fellows were about the turn of good luck. That fiction was necessary.

It made what came next easier.

She could have tried to argue with Marg about this, but she saw it as a waste of time. Three times the pay was not something easily ignored. She could attempt to buy the boy's life, but that would blow her cover, and the Duchess identity was not one she wanted to give up so lightly.

Plus, if they knew she served a high noble, they might just take what coin she offered, take her prisoner, and ransom her back to her father.

That would not do, no, that would not do at all.

She leaned in, sniffing the contents of the pot. She reached down and grabbed a pouch of seasoning she had brought, while she shook the contents into the stew, she squeeze a stud on her gauntlet with her thumb.

A pale liquid dripped out of the hollow stud. She stirred the stew erasing any trace that anything beyond seasoning had been added.

Her mouth turned into a grim line.

The things she did for her family, she thought.

She leaned back and glanced over at her fellows.

Marg and Kern were sharing a drink from a hip flask, pleased with their good fortune. Tiig remained silent, keeping his eye on the prisoner. Kylie…was…

Natalya managed a smile.

The boy seemed pleased with himself, he was only starting out, and already he would have made more coin on this job then he had likely seen in a single year. One night sitting around the campfire, he had confessed to her that his family was all farmers, but that he had not wanted to spend his life like that. Raising crops was all well and good, but he wanted some more excitement in his life, something greater.

The boy had grinned widely.

He had wanted to make a name of himself.

That…she realized…would never come to pass.

She took a small vial from her belt, she palmed it so that none of her companions would notice, she added the contents to her water skin, and took a long hard pull on it.

She swallowed, trying not to make a face at the metallic taste of the antidote she had added to it.

She licked her lips.

The poison in her gauntlet was one of her more subtle toxins; no one would suspect her, because she would eat just as eagerly as they.

Then all she had to do was wait.

The toxin could take three to four hours to finish its work, it was lethal, but it was also painless. The person's heart just stopped, it worked quicker when said person was asleep. Kern had first watch, she would talk to Kylie, she would say she was too excited to sleep, the over eager boy would buy that.

She smiled grimly.

By morning, the matter would be done.

No one would bother to feed the prisoner, which was good; it would save her the risk of having to give him the antidote. In the morning she would cut him free and inform him that she was a friend and ally of the mage rebellion. The fact that she had killed her fellows to protect him would go a long way to sell that story.

She would inform the apprentice that she had family in the circle, a brother she had not seen in years. A brother she just had to find, to make sure that he was okay.

It wasn't the whole truth, but it was enough to sell the story. She might have to eliminate the boy after, depending on just how much he could help her. In the meantime, she would have to be patient, and continue the hunt.

She smelled the pot again.

"Food is ready," she called out.

Kylie was the first in line with his bowl.

Natalya smiled at him, likely for the last time.

She ladled him up a full double helping of death.

He smelled the contents.

"Smells good Duchess," he said.

"The taste is something to be desired though," she said.

"I'm a horrible cook."

The boy chuckled and returned to his seat.

She did not relax until all the others had taken their own helping of stew. At first she though that Tiig was not going to take any. The elf did not seem to like his partners much, and he certainly was not interested in anything they had to offer.

Fortunately, Kern had intervened; the elf took a bowl of stew.

Natalya almost sighed with relief.

She sat back and ate her stew, confident in her skills and the strength of the antidote.

She glanced over at Kylie. She could not deny that she felt a small degree of shame for what she had done.

Perhaps…she would track down the boy's family, she thought. The bag of silver Marg had brought would do much for such common folk. It was sad that she could not save their son, but…what else could she do?

The road to power was often paved in blood; more lives would likely be lost before the end of her journey.

Including Nicholai's.

She tried to keep her face bland, tried not think about what needed to be done.

She would mourn in her own time. She would more Kylie and Nicholai, but in the end their deaths would have meaning.

She would **give** those deaths meaning.

 _The future_ _ **is**_ _coming_ , she thought.

 _I must make sure that it belongs to me._


	8. The Siege part 1

**Chapter 8: The Siege part 1**

"No."

The other mages looked up at Trevelyan, some with surprise, others with disgust. Nicholai however did not cow or budge.

He knew when something was foolish, and by Andraste's flaming ass he would not go along with the group just to make everyone happy. He had not agreed with the actions they had taken here, but had come because he saw no other choice.

They had pushed him this far, but he would go no farther.

IOI

The mage rebellion was currently laying siege to the city of Tantervale. For the first time, mages outside of Orlais had organized, no longer were functioning as small raider groups, for the first time they stood as an army, strong and determined, determination was needed if they were going to win the day and end the siege to their satisfaction. It was likely the mostly ambitious undertaking of the war. Mages from the Free Marches, Nevarra, even some as far away as Rivain and Antiva had all come together to make this siege possible. There numbers had swelled upon learning of Tantervale's support for the Templar cause; all agreed that it needed to be stopped before the mages found themselves being squeezed by a war on two fronts.

The number of combat mages had swelled to over two hundred, an impressive number considering how the war had been going, sell swords and volunteers filled out the rest of their forces, over a thousand men and women were now entrenched around the city, ready to strike at a moment's word.

The Tanters and their Templar allies had fled back into the city. Escape was now impossible, the mages had frozen over the Minanter River, there would be no flight to Starkhaven over the water, and no reinforcements would be coming from Nevarra.

The mages had the Tanters and their Templar allies trapped.

During the first few hours of the siege, some of the city defenders had tried to dissuade the mages, firing arrows down on their quickly forming lines.

The mages had sent fireballs up at those attackers, scattering them. Had the mages wanted, they likely could have conjured a grand spell and burned the city to the ground, but that was not the intent of the mage leadership. It was not Nicholai Trevelyan's intent. He commanded a large enough force and had won enough victories that he had earned a spot on the mage's war council.

It had given him a loud enough voice to push his initiative, even if the more hot-headed mages disagreed.

Once again he was using that power, and once he faced opposition.

IOI

He looked across the makeshift table at his fellow commanders, there five in all, including himself. They had come from all over, all with stories to tell, word had reached them all through message stones about the Templars deal with the Tanters.

All mages agreed that it could not be allowed to stand.

"We should use whatever we have available to us Trevelyan," A mage named Thaddeus said from across the table.

"If the Tevinters are willing to send aid, we are foolish to refuse it."

Nicholai frowned.

On the second day of the siege, a Tevinter envoy had arrived, a small squirrely looking man with nervous eyes and a sly smile. Though he did not claim to represent the Magisters, he **did** say that he represented powerful forces within the imperium. Forces that were willing to aid the mage rebellion in their struggle.

What that aid would entail, the man would not say, but he promised that it would be…substantial.

Thaddeus had been one of the loudest voices to accept that aid, not that that came as any surprise. Thaddeus commanded what was left of the Nevarran mages. Early in the war, the bulk of the Nevarran circles had gone south to aid Grand Enchanter Fiona in her struggles in Orlais. Thaddeus and his fellows had stayed behind to try and hold the College of Magi in Cumberland.

Their token force had been doomed almost from the start.

When word had reached the Templars of Lord Seeker Lambert's death, the Templars had struck hard at the college, securing it, and pursuing the mages left behind mercilessly.

No support had come from Cumberland of course, like most cities; it tried to stay neutral in the Templar mage conflict. Most city leaders expelled both Templar and mage when the fighting had begun in earnest. Tantervale's choice to pick a side was the exception to that rule.

Which was why the mages needed to tread lightly here, they could not afford to establish a dangerous precedent.

They needed to keep the bulk of the mundanes in Thedas out of the war.

Nicholai had hoped to convince the Lord Chancellor to see reason, to follow his fellow leaders and rulers and spare his people the pain of being dragged into the war. Trevelyan still believed that the key to winning was to keep the mundanes out of the fighting. If either side started attacking those not involved in their conflict, then all of Thedas would rise up against that side, and the war would destroy them.

Nicholai did not intend for the mages to be the side that everyone rose up against. He pushed for moderation where he could. Accepting Tevinter help would only turn the rest of Thedas against the mage cause.

He could not allow that.

"The Tevinters have nothing to gain by helping us," he said with a sigh, he had been arguing this point since the envoy had left.

"We _can't_ deal with them."

Arnauld, a mage from Hopsburg glared at him.

"We could use their supplies, lyrium we need, food too, and fresh troops would be welcome, we can only survive for so long on good will."

Nicholai glared at him.

Were the others truly so blind?

"Good will is all we truly have," he reminded them. "You would throw that all away by siding with the Imperium? We just need to hold on a little longer, the Templars are faring no better than we when it comes to allies."

"Except they have Tantervale and Kirkwall," Thaddeus spat back, clearly angry that the mages had not simply taken the city when they first arrived.

"We have Tantervale blockaded," Nicolai answered, "As for Kirkwall; it is quickly becoming a noose around the Templars' necks. They have had _three_ Knight-Commanders in as many months; two are known to have been executed. Templar command is squabbling over the city; no one can agree who is in charge. The division in the Templar ranks serves us. How long until the order splits between Lord Seeker Lucius, and some strong man looking to seize what Lambert Van Reeves tried to build."

The other mages fell silent for a moment, thinking about what he had just said. Trevelyan was not the only one who had heard such reports. Fear of the Seekers of Truth early in the war had done much to unify the Templars against the mages and convinced them to accept the dissolution of the Nevarran Accords. Since that time, the Seekers had not stepped up and taken control, with the exception of Lord Seeker Lucius; fewer and fewer Seekers were seen at any engagement with the mages. The lack of the dark armored warriors' presence had only encouraged ambitious Knight-Commanders to try to take more power for themselves. The rumor was that Lucius, or those that ruled in his name, had had to put down three Templar commanders for seeking to overthrow him as leader of the Templar movement.

It was hard to say if that was true, but the lack of cohesion among the order suggested that there was at least some validation in those stories.

Trevelyan glanced at his advisors. Gilbert, Lamont, and Gillian had all agreed with him on letting the Tevinters in. Even Kurtz had spoken up for him, which was a surprise, but then again, Kurtz was a loyal Marcher. He did not want to see Imperium soldiers here anymore than Nicholai did.

Nicholai rolled his eyes.

"Any soldiers the Tevinters bring will be slaves sent to fight and die for their masters. They had no loyalty to us, and have no stake in our cause."

He gave Thaddeus a cold look.

"Do you want Tevinter slaves fighting to set us free?"

"There is another consideration we must take into account," Gillian said stepping forward.

The mages at the table, with the exception of Trevelyan glared at her. The other leaders were from the Libertarians or Aequitarians, and none seemed to have any positive feelings for the Lucrosians.

Nicholai had learned to look past her fraternity; Gilly had a clear head when it came to hard facts.

"Let her speak," Nicholai said.

She gave her leader a grateful nod, a nod that he returned.

She took a deep breath and continued to address the others.

"On the surface," she began, "An alliance with Tevinter looks good, but I can see only two ways such an alliance would end, and it does not favor us."

Arnauld snorted, but Thaddeus stopped him with a glare.

"What do you mean," an elven mage named Kyra asked from her seat at the end of the table.

"If we accept the Tevinters' offer we will be giving the Imperium a beach head to attack the Free Marches. Many lords will not accept this, they will consider this a betrayal by the mages and might actively start supporting to the Templars, and even if we do manage to win here in the Free Marches we have nothing to gain.

"The Imperium will use their alliance with us to claim territories here in the south, territories that they will likely use us to defend. They will say that we are defending our holding, but in truth, we will be fodder used to hold onto what **they** have won. We will have no say, we will be little more than slaves."

"And _if_ we lose," Trevelyan added, "we will be called traitors, spies for Tevinter. The Kingdoms of Thedas will not rest until we are exterminated. We will be considered a threat to their power, and they will be right."

Nicholai shook his head.

"I'm not saying that we _shouldn't_ do business with Tevinter. I'm saying that we _**can't.**_ "

He glanced up at Gillian; he gave her a grateful nod.

She smiled slightly and stepped back.

Lamont rolled his eyes, but said nothing, Trevelyan did not blame him.

It was not common knowledge that Nicholai and Gillian had become lovers. Since the events of Asch's Crossing the two had grown closer, he had come to see her as more than just a fellow mage, she was beautiful intelligent young woman, far more than a mere Lucrosian interested only in making money.

Plus, he thought hiding a smile.

The pretty lucrosians skill between the sheets was not bad either.

He said none of this, of course, he had enough respect for Gilly to leave what they had private.

What the two of them did when they were alone, were none of the other mages' business.

Thaddeus sighed.

"Do you still think the Tanters will accept our terms?" he asked, "Do you believe that they will remove the Templars from the city?"

"The merchants will be pushing for that, we made sure that the common people of Tantervale knew that we only want the Templars gone. They kick them out, we leave. I can't imagine that the Tanters are willing to suffer and die just so some Templars can continue to feel righteous and good about themselves."

Most of the mages in the room nodded, but their friend from Cumberland still appeared skeptical.

"And if the Tanters refuse to see sense," Thaddeus asked him.

Trevelyan winced.

If it came to the mages having to defend themselves, they would do what they had to; he did not doubt that, though he still hoped that there was some way out of this. There had to be better way than fighting to neutralize Tantervale.

So they would wait, but they needed to be careful.

Time was not on their side.

As much as he believed that the victory he sought was possible, he also knew it to be a gamble. The longer the mages remained, the greater the chance of a Templar army from Kirkwall coming here grew. Their scouts would warn them if such an army was sighted, but if the Templars did manage to slip through….

The mages would be trapped between an army from the city, and an army attacking from behind, and with the water way frozen over…

They would be caught in a blood bath.

He shook his head.

If the Templars did come they would have to be ready to move fairly quickly.

For now they just had to be careful, and make sure that the scouts kept them apprised of any Templar movements.

"I still don't believe we can win this war in a straight out fight," Trevelyan said; if the Lord Chancellor agrees to out terms more the better for us."

Trevelyan pursed his lips.

"I still think that it is in our best interest to stay this course, so that is what I believe that we must do. I can't make you agree, I only ask that you accept my advice concerning the Imperium.

Nicholai frowned.

"Tevinter help may aid some of our ills, but the cure may be worse than the disease…"

Gillian came to his side then, resting her hand on his shoulder, offering him her support. Gilbert and Lamont also stepped forward. Kurtz remained where he was, but since he said nothing Trevelyan assumed that he at least believed that his old ally was right.

Nicholai was grateful for their support.

The mages had enough enemies.

They did not need to make anymore...

…Especially, among themselves.


	9. The Siege part 2

**Chapter 9: Siege part 2**

The day the siege of Tantervale ended, the waters of the Minanter surged. Smoke rose from the city and was seen for miles, the wreckage of the battle made its way down stream, giving all a view of the chaos that had been created.

Natalya Song, currently in the city of Starkhaven, had been just preparing to leave when both word and evidence of the battle arrived.

The bard's new friends, mages all, were eager to go and join their fellows, to take up the banner and fight for their cause. None had any direct connection to her brother, but given everything that had happened in the last few months; they felt sure that Nicholai Trevelyan would take them into his service. Matton, the boy she had saved from her fellow hunters had bought her story completely, a story sold even more by the deaths of her former comrades. It never even occurred to the young mage that she might have a hidden agenda.

She smiled slightly.

The story had not even been a lie. She had told him that she had had a sibling among the mages attacking Tantervale, which was true. She wished to see her brother again, to make sure that he was alright, which was also true.

She wished no harm on her dear brother. When she fulfilled this contract, she intended for his death to be both clean and painless. He would simply die in his sleep, quick and painless.

After all…she was not a monster.

She was still composing in her head what she would say to Nicholai when she saw him again. Unlike the gullible easy to please Matton, her brother was smart enough to suspect that she might have an ulterior motive. She seriously doubted that she would be able to slip past either him or his guards undetected. No, it was best that she use their relationship to get in close. After that, the job would be easy.

 _Well…simple_ , she thought suppressing a frown.

Killing a family member should **never** be easy.

Killing Nicholai…she was not proud of what she had to do, but understood the necessity of it.

He would die, so that she could live, that the family would be able to maintain the position that it had fought so hard and struggled to maintain.

Family… _always_ came first.

Part of her just wished to end the job quickly, to make a quick and painless kill and escape. It would never be that easy, she knew that, but she could dream, could she not?

All she needed was to get close to Nicholai…once that was done…

…it would be over before anyone could stop her.

The ringing of chantry bells woke her from her revelry. The warehouse where the mages were hiding was not far from the waterfront, the Minanter had been reduced to a trickle by the mages freezing the waters outside of Tantervale. Sebastian Vael, the new prince, had been eager to see the water way reopened, even going so far as to preparing a delegation to go and speak with the leaders of the mage rebellion.

That meeting would never take place now, the waters had returned, they rushed with new strength over the slowly drying river bed.

Natalya made her way to the docks, curious what had happened.

The waters raged down past the great city, white caps lashed at the docks. No sooner had the waters begun to clear that the first chucks of ice floated past Starkhaven all that remained of the barrier that had blocked the river for so many days.

Of course ice was not the only thing floating in the river that day, loose wreckage soon followed and with that wreckage, came the first body…

…the first of many.

Several girls screamed in horror. Dozens of bodies floated past the docks and the milling crowds. The Starkhaven guard moved quickly to get people back, even as sailor and fishermen stood on shores trying to snag bodies with long poles with hooks.

Natalya, used to the sight of death still shuddered at the sheer number of bodies being fished out of the water. Most of the corpses were clad in robes, marking them as members of the broken Circle. All the bodies were cleaved or pierced by arrows.

No one doubted where these dead had come from. Word of the Templars sending an army to breach the siege of Tantervale had reached Starkhaven three days ago. Since that time, no one had heard anything from the city to the west. The mages had blocked all forms of communication, trying to prevent any of the other city states from intervening on the Tanters behalf.

It was safe to say that the lines of communication would be opening again soon, whether to report a mage victory, or to tell of the Templar army liberating Tantervale from the rebellion.

Given the number of mage bodies she was seeing, Natalya suspected that the latter was the most likely result.

The guards were out in force now, doing what they could to keep people back. Natalya caught behind to large armored warriors was unable to get any closer. Finally, she gave up and made her way around one of the warehouses, hoping to find some ladder or stairs that she could use to get a better look at what was going on along the water front.

The bard pursed her lips.

Was it wrong to hope that Nicholai was among the dead? Was it wrong to hope that he had fallen in battle and she was now free of the job of having to kill him herself?

She shook her head, trying to clear it of such thoughts.

This job had left her more…conflicted than she had ever been. The desire for the life she wanted, and the love she had for her brother clashed whenever she let down her guard.

He has to die, she reminded herself. For Father, and for House Trevelyan, Nicholai **has** to die.

Once she was a Queen, she would be able to do much to honor her brother's memory. She would convince Oliver that their first born son would be named in his memory. The mage's sacrifice would be remembered, by his death, Nicholai would save the entire Pentaghast line.

She tried to remain focused on that.

Her brother would not be dying for nothing.

She would give his death meaning.

She swore that it would be so.

The bard frowned as she reached the top of the building. She could not see well enough to get a really good look at the slain. Plus, the chance of finding her brother among the dead was wishful thinking at best.

Her brother was no fool. He would not make it easy for the Templars to send him into the next world. She would likely have to wait and see what news came next out of Tantervale. If the mages had won, she would be able to find out if Nicholai was alive or dead. If they lost, the Templars would no doubt parade the bodies of the mage leadership back to Kirkwall. Her brother was well-enough known that the Templars would likely seek his death, hoping it would hasten the end of the mage rebellion in the Free Marches. If Nicholai had fallen, she would be able to return home and make her report, if he had not fallen, and somehow escaped the Templar trap…

The bard's frown deepened.

If her brother lived, then the hunt would continue.

She would find him; she did not doubt that, and when she did…

He _would_ die.

IOI

Despite his wounds, Nicholai Trevelyan did what he could to keep his surviving forces moving. Mages and sell-swords did what they could for the wounded as the retreat from Tantervale tipped dangerously close to turning into a panicked flight rather than a military-style withdrawal.

The mage shook his head, trying to clear the buzzing that refused to go away. The Magebane used by the Templars and their allies early in the assault had made their magic all but ineffective in trying to either hold the line, or tend to the wounded that now outnumbered the hale and hearty fighters that had moved into Tantervale such a short time ago.

So much loss, he thought, so much death.

Nicholai's frown deepened.

And it would likely only get worse from here.

For one brief moment he paused, trying to puzzle out exactly what happened. Everything had seemed to have been going their way. The city blockaded, and their scouts on the lookout for Templar reinforcements. The mages should have been warned of any attempt by the Templars to remove the rebellion from the city gates.

It was with the scouts…that everything had fallen apart.

Three days ago, he had risen before dawn, as was his way. He had left Gillian asleep in their tent as he sought out one of his fellow commanders, eager to hear the reports from scouts who had just returned.

The first enchanter he had encountered assured him that everything was fine. The all clear signal had come from the men watching the road an hour ago, and despite the fact that none of the scouts had returned after their relief had been sent all seemed to be well.

Normally, that might have sent off a warning bell in Trevelyan's mind, but it was hardly the first time that their scouts had been out of contact. They might have seen something overnight that they wished to check out, and were now taking their time getting back.

Trevelyan sought out Thaddeus; the man had access to the communication stones that the scouts were using. He hoped to verify that everything was fine, and that they were still holding their own against any potential threat.

He had still been looking for Thaddeus when the first fire arrows rained down on their camp. Many of the rebels, caught off guard by the lookouts failure to warn them stared up in shock as death rained down on their heads.

Several mages and many of their allies fell in the first seconds of the attack; the arrow had also managed to ignite several pots of lamp oil the mages had been using.

Fire rushed through their camp.

No sooner had the arrows stopped falling that the first Templars charged into their camp, the knights attacked using a charge of heavy horse, long spears and lances were used to mow down any who had survived that first volley.

Nicholai had managed to get up a shield when the arrows fell, but not before he had been wounded in the shoulder. The wound hurt like Andraste's pyre, but he never the less managed to get off one fireball at the charging Templars, throwing several of the attackers from their horses, buying the people around him at least some time.

That time had been useful, but in the end, it had not been enough.

Lamont staggered into him, his fellow enchanter had been speaking with some of Kira's people when the arrows started to fall.

The former Loyalist was out of breath from his near panicked search to find his leader, but now that he had, he hoped they still had a chance.

Nicholai ordered Monty to try and find Gillian, Kurtz, and Gilbert. He hoped to rally his people, buy their allies time to rally, and try and halt the Templar assault.

All around them the camp was in disarray. The Templar charge had not been as well planned as the soldiers had thought. Enough of the mages had been awake that they were now striking back, breaking up the Templar line, turning the camp into a battlefield with many small skirmishes.

Despite the fear in the air, enough mages had also survived to begin building a shield against any more Templar arrows. A second volley was halted in midair as the mages, galvanized by the attack tried to form up and prepare to meet their enemy head on.

Despite the sneak attack, Nicholai was confident that they could still turn this battle around.

They had heard nothing of a Templar army advancing on their position, but even if there was one, they still had more than enough mages here to make the chantry's former attack dogs pay for this strike. The amount of magic here alone was enough to burn the city of Tantervale to the ground, it should have been more than enough to hold back the Templars Regardless of how many men they had brought, the mages could…

It was then that Trevelyan noticed a strange buzzing in the back of his head, It was subtle, but enough to be distracting.

He shook his head and tried to fight through it. He called on his magic to try and clear it away.

It was at that moment he realized that he couldn't, the buzzing had grown too loud for him to focus, it had become like a wall between him and his magic.

And…he was not alone.

Above him the shield began to fail, holes appeared in its protective umbrella as what happened to him began happening to everyone else as well.

Trevelyan looked down at one of the arrows that had fallen in the first moments of the attack. Not all of them had been fire arrows after all, one of the ones that had not been had landed not far away, as he looked down he noticed that they were coated in a thick brown colored liquid.

The same liquid that now stained his bloody shirt.

Now Trevelyan knew what was going on, and what the Templars were doing.

Magebane, he hissed between the grinding of his teeth.

The poison was a subtle one, but in large doses it could leave a mage paralyzed. The Templars had seemed to have diluted their store enough so that it blocked magic, with simply paralyzing the body.

Nicholai turned with a feral snarl on his lips.

He intended to make sure that the Templars paid for their decision not to paralyze their prey.

Lamont had only just returned, having gathered as many of his fellows as he could. Nicholai was not the only one suffering the effects of the bane, he…

A Templar horn sounded in the distance, followed by an answering horn from the city.

Trevelyan paled.

It seemed that the Templars in the city were not willing to remain their while their brothers and sisters bloodied their swords.

He could hear panicked cries from the lines near the city gates. Arrows and trebuchets opened up on the mage rebellion. It was at that moment that the gates of Tantervale opened, unleashing the Templars, and a small army of Tanter volunteers. At the same time the Templar army charged the mage camp from without, cutting off the mages from any chance of escape. The failing shield did nothing to keep their enemy out as a fresh wave of Templars and their loyalists fell upon Nicholai and his allies.

Lamont had been one of the first to die. He had tried a spell, but the mage bane had caused it to fail even as he cast.

A Templar split his head in half as he rode by. The red haired mage fell without a sound, even as his fellows screamed around him.

Nicholai drew his sword and staff.

What he had feared with this siege had come to pass, but he would not fall so easily.

There was only one way out of here now.

They needed to fight!

And he intended to do just that.

He would fight!

And…he would win.

IOI

The fires of that moment had dulled as they had gone on. Enough of the mages had survived to make escape possible, but little else.

The host they had built was scattered now, fleeing in all directions. Trevelyan did not recognize half the people who were fleeing with him, but right now he did not care.

They had had a plan, he and the others. They would head for their fallback spot, and try to regroup.

Lamont was dead, Trevelyan knew that, but of Gilbert, Gillian, and Kurtz, he knew nothing.

The mage clenched and unclenched his fists.

If they were dead, then the Templars would answer.

He tried not to think about that, he tried to stay focused on those moving with him now. His friends were smart; they would know what to do.

They had to have made it, they had to. He still needed them, Kurtz, Gilbert, and Gillian…

…Especially Gillian.

He took a deep breath and tried to focus.

He needed to stay strong, for the others.

They would regroup, and then figure out what had happened, how the Templars had managed to surprise them so easily.

Once that was done, they would be able to decide what to do next.

One thing was certain, he thought.

This war is far from over.


	10. The Flight

**Chapter 10: The Flight**

 _We were betrayed._

Those words came as no surprise to Nicholai Trevelyan, or anyone else that had participated in the siege of Tantervale. The speed and secrecy by which the Templars had approached left little doubt that somewhere among the mage leadership; someone had thought it best to betray their brothers.

The city of Tantervale had fallen to the Templars. Few of their sources within the city remained, but the few that had, had managed to reveal the fate of the Marcher city. The Minanter River was once again open, and the first of the Templar reinforcements had arrived from distant Nevarra. Led by a member of the Seekers of Truth, the reinforcements had secured much of the city, including the Chancellor's palace. Their allies reported that there had been some resistance to the new state of things, but with a fresh garrison of reinforcements at his back, the Tanters were in no position to refuse the new order of things.

As for the Templar army that had marched all the way from Kirkwall, their leader was not pleased with the Seeker's choice to assume control directly. It was his forces that the Tanters had turned to, so he thought it only right that the city's control fall to him and his.

The Templars within the city remained divided, but that would not last long, eventually the Templars would get matters sorted out, and Tantervale would be just another jewel in the Lord Seeker's crown.

As far as Nicholai was concerned they could take as much time as they wanted sorting out the matter of who was in charge. Every second the Templars wasted fighting was more time for the mages to fall back and regroup. It was too much to hope for that the Templars would start killing each other over the spoils, especially with a Seeker in control, but a mage could dream.

In the meantime, they needed to tend to their wounded, and figure out what in the name of Andraste had happened here.

How had the Templars pulled this off, and what could be done to prevent such a disaster from happening again.

Trevelyan made his way through their ramshackle camp, dead and wounded were everywhere. So many of their healers were still suffering the effect of the watered-down, mage bane, and were unable to use even the simplest of spells to heal their injured comrades.

Too many would die tonight. They would die of wounds that would usually be no problem for mages to heal.

Trevelyan shook his head at the sorry state of their forces. Too many had been captured or killed. Those that had died had likely been the lucky ones, the survivors, those unfortunate enough to be taken by the Templars, were likely getting the rite of Tranquility right now, and once that was done, they would have no qualms about revealing the location of this fall back spot to their captors…

…Which meant that the mages would need to move quickly, they were living now on borrowed time, the Templars would be here soon.

 _They needed to be gone before that happened._

Of the leaders of their host, only he and the elf Kira remained. Thaddeus had gone missing; he was feared dead, or captured. Kurtz and Gillian had shown up less than an hour after he did. Gilbert had showed up the next morning, though he would not be with them long.

Trevelyan shook his head.

The dark skinned mage's wounds had been too many, and too bad.

Gillian and the healers had done all they could for him, but he had lost too much blood by that point. Had the mages had full access to their full powers things might have been different, but alas, that had not been the case.

In the end, Trevelyan and Gillian had stayed by their old friend's side. They had spent his final hour talking to him, and doing what they could to make Gilbert comfort.

When he finally breathed his last, Gilly had fallen into his arms sobbing. First they had lost Lamont, now Gilbert.

What was left of their circle was dying a slow and painful death.

He…he did what he could for the beautiful Lucrosian, did his best to sooth and comfort her. They had not much time, but still managed to make love just away from the others, taking solace in the simple act, using it to find some comfort.

It had been over too quickly, but they had not tried to make it last longer than it did. They both still had roles to play, and had to return to them. Gillian needed to help her fellows take stock of what supplies they had left.

Trevelyan…he needed to meet with what was left of the leadership.

They needed to figure out what happened, and where would they go from here.

For Nicholai, it was an easy choice.

The army was decimated; they needed time to regroup…

They needed…to retreat.

IOI

"We received an all clear message from the scouts less than ten minutes before the Templars hit us."

Trevelyan looked at one of Thaddeus' commanders, one of the few who had escaped. He had been in charge of the communication stones that the scouts were using.

He was one of the few that could hopefully provide them with answers.

"Are you sure that it was the scouts that sent the all-clear message?" Trevelyan asked.

"I'm sure," the man replied.

"How?"

The man's brow furrowed with anger.

"The communication stones **don't** lie," he said, "I've used them many times before, it was one of our scouts that was using it. Of that I am sure."

"Then that leaves us with only two questions," Nicholai said shaking his head, "Was the scout under duress when he sent the all-clear, or did he do it willingly."

His last words started several whispered conversations among the survivors. No one wanted to say it, but the facts did not lie.

The scouts had failed to warn them of the approaching Templars. Now they needed to find out why.

Gillian sighed from her place near Kurtz.

"Templars do not bribe mages. It is not their way."

"None of the scouts that were watching that route returned," Thaddeus' man added, "It suggests that our scouts were coerced into helping the Templars, but if they were, how did they find them. Every one of the people we sent out was skilled in masking spells."

The man shook his head.

"The Templars should _**not**_ have found them."

Kira's elven ears twitched as she considered another possibility.

"It could have been the _Scions of Justice_?"

The elven enchanter's eyes narrowed.

"We know that at least some of the people fighting with us once served in their ranks."

Trevelyan stifled a curse.

He did not like pointing fingers at his fellow mages, but…

 _The Scions of Justice_ were an easy target.

The group had been spawned from the remnant of the Circle of Kirkwall. They were mages that had survived the Right of Annulment, mages that all but worshipped the fallen apostate Anders. To the _Scions,_ he was a holy martyr who gave his life to further their cause…

…Their cause being a state of total war.

 _The Scions_ did not just blame the Templars for the mages plight; they blamed the circle as well. They preached a doctrine that said that both sides needed to destroy each other, to pay for Anders' sacrifice, and that only once that was done, that the survivors, those children born after, would be a purer stock of mage, mages fit to inherit the world that Anders had dreamed of, and promised those in his manifesto.

Trevelyan thought the whole thing ridiculous, but many mages believed it, and their mysterious leader, whoever he or she was continued to preach Anders' words and promised to bring about a policy of total annihilation.

Had one of the scouts been a _Scion,_ it **would** explain a lot. Still, he still got the feeling that that was not it.

No one here would risk their lives by putting them in the hand of a zealot, reformed or not, who believed that they all deserved to be destroyed.

It was not impossible, but it was _highly_ unlikely.

"What about our Tevinter friends?"

All eyes turned, the question came from Kurtz. The sell-sword's forehead was heavily bandaged, yet despite his injuries his eyes and voice remained quite clear.

"What about the Tevinters," Kira asked.

"Trevelyan," Thaddeus' man said with a friend, "Why is your mundane speaking up at this meeting?"

Nicholai glared at the man.

"He is speaking up because he has spent his entire life fighting one battle or another. He has learned more about war than any one of us could in a lifetime."

Trevelyan frowned at his fellow mages.

"He may not be a mage, but we would be fools to ignore his counsel."

Trevelyan turned back to his old friend.

"Finish what you were saying Kurtz."

The sell sword chuckled.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, lad. It is appreciated."

He limped forward and looked around at the gathered mages.

"The Tevinters had to pass your scouts on the way to their little meeting with you, did they not? In fact, I think it is safe to say that your scouts had to reveal themselves to them. Otherwise they would never have gotten close. The Tevinters were likely the only outsiders that saw them, and therefore knew where they were, might even have had a chance to talk to 'em, maybe even make them an offer or two."

Kira gave the sell sword a suspicious look.

"You believe the Tevinters sold us out, that they could have bribed our scouts to let the Templar army pass undetected?"

"They probably had the gold to do so," Kurtz shrugged, "And if any of your boys and girls thought it best that you all join with Tevinter. Having you taken down a notch by the Templars might speed things along quite nicely."

Trevelyan considered what Kurtz was saying.

It wasn't a bad theory, but would the Tevinters really risk the mage rebellion's destruction, just to recruit the survivors?

His fellow mages' reaction was angry shouts and denials.

"They would not do that!"

"We are mages like them!"

"What could they gain if we all died?!"

"I'm not saying it is what happened. I'm saying it's possible," Kurtz said shouting over the din.

"Why offer us an alliance and then turn around and try and destroy us?" one of the mages in the back asked.

"As Kurtz said," Nicholai answered, "To take us down a notch, make us desperate for their aid. They may even have people watching us from hiding, people that could have intervened if it looked like we were about to be slaughtered to the last. Imagine how grateful we would have been then?"

"You believe the Tevinters were behind our defeat, Trevelyan?" Kira asked.

"I have no proof, so I can't say if they were or not," he said back, "It is merely a theory."

A very dangerous theory, Trevelyan thought, "If the Tevinters were behind this, it suggested a much larger game, more than simply trying to gobble up some territories along the norther border.

Break the mage rebellion down, and assimilate it into the Tevinter military. Southern mages would be useful if the Tevinters had designs on reclaiming the south, but such an operation would require the highest level of support in the Imperium. The Tevinter that had met with them had said they were not sent by the Magisterium, so the question remained.

Who had sent them and what did this person want with the mage rebellion?

Trevelyan did not doubt that the Tevinters had been up to something when they met with the mages outside of Tantervale. Now that the siege was done, the Imperium would likely move to the second phase of their plan.

Trevelyan had already decided that he would not be here when those plans took shape, and hopefully, he would not be alone.

He intended to get as many of his people out of harm's way as possible, provided that they listen to him.

He looked out over his fellows, battered and bloody they were, they had lost a battle, he did not deny that, now they had to make sure that they did not lose the war.

He had only one idea on how to accomplish that.

"Brothers and sisters," he began, "Tantervale was a gamble, we all knew that going in, and it is a gamble that we lost. The time has come to regroup and rebuild. We can't do that here, not in the Free Marches."

He shook his head.

""Me and mine will fall back to Ferelden."

Angry shouts filled the camp, his fellow Mages calling him 'coward' and worse.

"The Templars are likely coming for us, even as we speak. More than a few that were likely captured knew about this fall back spot, and with the Templars now in control of Tantervale and the Minanter River, they could force the other city states to help them hunt us down and exterminate us."

Trevelyan's voice cracked as he said these words, he did not like running, but he saw no better alternative.

"King Alistair of Ferelden has offered sanctuary to mages fleeing the fighting. The Fereldan people still remember that the circle stood with them against the Blight, we will encounter those willing to help us recover in Ferelden, and the civil war in Orlais will guarantee that the Templars of Orlais will not have an easy time linking up with their Fereldan cousins."

And if the Tevinters are up to something, having the Waking Sea between us and them would give us time to figure out what that is.

He did not say that last part out loud, but realized that it was a smart move.

"Any of you who wish to join me are welcome to," he said gesturing to their entire group. "If we stay we will die, I do not doubt that. If we run…there is a chance that we can grow strong enough again to return and reclaim what we have lost."

He let out a tired sigh, feeling far older than he had in a very long time.

He hoped that he was making the right decision, for all their sakes.

He pursed his lips and shook his head.

"All are welcome to join me," he repeated.

"All are welcome."

IOI

Three weeks later, Trevelyan and his fellows landed on the coast of Ferelden, a few miles outside of the port of Amaranthine. He and Kurtz helped Gillian out of their boat as those that accompanied him also made landfall.

Trevelyan shook his head in disappointment.

Only a third of those who had fled Tantervale had joined him, most had separated, choosing to continue their hit and run raids against Tantervale and Kirkwall.

The few survivors that had accompanied him mostly came from his original group. Kira had brought her followers but many of them had died outside of Tantervale.

We will have to move quickly, he realized, the Templars probably had people watching the ports, and likely had people on ships at sea.

The smugglers that Trevelyan had bribed to take them across were not the most trustworthy; they would likely turn around and sell the location of this landing to the Templars the first chance they got.

Trevelyan intended to be long gone by the time that happened.

He sighed heavily.

This whole journey felt like defeat, he did not like it.

Gillian wrapped her arms around him from behind, trying to comfort him.

He smiled slightly and kissed her hands.

They had heard rumors the last few weeks that the Divine was planning on setting up some kind of Conclave along the Ferelden Orlesian boarder. That the Most Holy was asking all Templar and mage leaders to attend.

He hoped that this was a sign that Justinia was finally going to do something, force the leaders to the bargaining table, and end this madness.

He doubted that they would be able to get their old lives back, but at least there would be a chance.

One thing was for certain.

The world would never be the same.


	11. The End of the World

**Chapter 11: The End of the World**

 _My brother will not leave this place alive._

The Lady Natalya Song, otherwise known as Natalya Trevelyan, bard and bastard daughter of Bann Trevelyan of Ostwick thought only that as she led her exhausted gray mare through the streets of the village of Haven. After months of hard searching, after so many false leads, and near misses, finally she had managed to track down her target.

She sighed heavily. She had thought she had him after the failed Siege of Tantervale, then again as he awaited a ship on the coast of the Free Marches. She and her mage friends arrived just a day late. Nicholai and his followers had already made the crossing. Then she had spent weeks wandering the wilds of the Ferelden. Finally, after many fruitless nights, she realized that the mages she was travelling with would be no more help in trying to locate her brother.

So she had left them, and began the hunt on her own again, a hunt that had finally paid off.

Finally, she had managed to locate Nicholai Trevelyan, and _finally_ , after months of hunting, sometime in next few hours, she would **end** him.

A cold wind rustled her hair and her fur lined cloak as she made her way down the crowded street. Templars, mages, priests, and sell-swords glanced up as she passed by, their gazes never lingering long, some likely mistook her for just another noble here for the Conclave, not that she really looked the part right now. Her dark blond hair was dirty from the long ride and more than a few nights staying in Fereldan inns, dirt and sweat darkened her usually rosy cheeks, only her walk remained regal, the lazy feline tread that had drawn so many stares at Ostwick's Solons, her hips swaying just so.

Natalya Song had always known how to make an entrance, not that that really mattered in this place, not with so many important people here.

Her green cat-like eyes flickered as she drank in the sights and sounds. The little village was full to bursting, so many had come to support the Most Holy as she tried to pull all of Thedas back from the brink of madness and chaos, or at least...so they hoped.

The girl smiled slightly.

Thanks to the Divine's summons, the world itself had come to Haven, what did one more face in the crowd really matter, even a pretty face like hers.

She found the stable quick enough, offering the boy there ten coppers to tend to her poor mount's needs. After that she slipped away towards the chantry, the only real source of information in such a drab little place.

She wrinkled her nose.

Normally she would have preferred to begin in a tavern, it was there that she would be able to not only rest but start gathering the information she needed to carry out the next phase of her mission. Alas, Haven had **no** such place. It was basically just a collection of small log cabins that were only about two good gusts of wind from falling in on themselves.

Natalya shook her head.

 _It was hard to believe that this was one of the most holy sites in Thedas._

For almost a thousand years, Haven had remained hidden from world, a little blot on the map ignored by almost everyone, which of course served the purpose of the people living here, at least, that is what the tales said.

The people of Haven, also known as the _Disciples of Andraste_ had come to this place to hide. It was rumored that they had been led here by Havard, the Aegis of Faith, the man who had carried the ashes of Andraste out of Tevinter. It was here that the disciples had erected a temple in her honor, a place where the ashes would be safe from the Imperium, and anyone else who might try to harm the remains of the Maker's Chosen. Of course, over the years, that mission changed, corruption spread through the ranks of the faithful here. Dragon worshippers took over the village killing all who disagreed with them. These Fanatics saw the High Dragon that had taken up residence near the temple as Andraste _reborn_ , and they killed any who threatened their ideals and the safety of _their_ 'prophet.'

Whether those stories were true or not, Natalya could not say. There was a temple here that much was certain, built into the mountains many ages ago. And it was here, almost a decade past now that one of the pivotal chapters of the Fifth Blight had taken place.

The Hero of Ferelden, the legendary Alim Surana, had come here with his allies; they had sought the Urn of Sacred Ashes to save the life of Arl Eamon of Redcliffe. The Disciples, corrupted after their many years of isolation tried to stop the Warden and his companions.

 _That endeavor had **not** ended well for them._

The Warden hunted the betrayers to their extinction, battling both men and dragons on his way to the temple and there, after defeating the High Dragon, seized the ashes for his own. What had happened next was unclear. Once the Blight had ended, the chantry had come to Haven to secure the temple and guard the ashes. It was said that they had found _nothing_. The temple remained but the ashes themselves were gone, or so the chantry claimed.

 _Had the chantry lied? Had they spirited the ashes away, or had survivors of the cultists took revenge on the warden by destroying them?_

It was impossible to say now, whatever had happened, the chantry had _chosen_ to remain here. They rebuilt the village, and reinforced the temple, even if the ashes were gone, this place still had value. Many a pilgrim had come here in the years since the warden had left. They came seeking guidance, and enlightenment, hoping to feel the Maker's gaze upon them. The Chantry had done nothing to discourage this, they welcomed these pilgrims one and all, tithes flowed into the tiny village, offerings of gold and trade goods, **all** used to rebuild this place, with what was left no doubt trickling back to Val Royeaux filling many coffers and pockets. Haven was a **large** investment for the chantry, an investment that had paid off in a big way.

Natalya almost smirked.

Haven was as much about _gold_ as it was about _faith_ , but that was not why she was here. No, she had come here with another mission, one that would change her world forever.

She slipped into the chantry, a bit surprised to find it all but abandoned, but then again, that should not have come as a surprise.

The Divine had no doubt summoned the bulk of the priests and guards to tend to her at temple. It was there that the leaders of the mage rebellion and the Templar order were now meeting.

It was _there_ , at the Divine Conclave, that the Most Holy hoped to end the mage rebellion once and for all. Her contacts had verified that Nicholai was among the mages in attendance.

Natalya licked her dry lips in anticipation.

It was there…that she would find Nicholai, _her_ brother…

Her fingers tightened around the hilts of her silverite bladed daggers

 _Her_ **prey.**

The hunt was _almost_ over.

Her Father would be pleased.

Bann Pieter Trevelyan, her father, had demanded Nicholai's death, it had not pleased him, but the lord had little choice.

Nicholai had been using his family connections to bring in supplies for the mage rebellion, the Chantry feared that he might even have turned to blood magic to aid in this endeavor, whether he had done so or not was irrelevant.

The Revered Mothers of Ostwick demanded action, Nicholai had become inconvenient to his family, his house…he had become a threat.

The Bann turned to her to end that threat.

Natalya paused for a moment, breathing in the sweet smell of incense and lamp oil. She let the peace of the chantry wash over her, letting it settle her nerves and steel her resolve.

One more death, she thought, just one more.

And I can finally begin making the world a better place, **my** world.

She walked over to the holy brazier, and with a small tapper, lit a candle for the soul of Nicholai Trevelyan, wishing him peace at the Maker's side.

A single tear slid down her face.

It might seem strange, an assassin feeling such pity for her intended target, but the truth was, she had no ill feelings toward poor doomed Nicholai. He was mage, sure, but he was **also** her brother…

She would take **no** pleasure in his death, but that did not mean that she would not carry it out.

They had grown up together; at least, until he had been taken to the circle, back then she had been just another playmate, little Nattie Song, the daughter of his father's favorite minstrel. Nicolai and his brother Stefan had been her friends, they had not known about her blood, and likely would not have cared if they did. Many a summer day had been wasted playing tag in the gardens. Those had been good times, _happy_ times.

When they had grown older, the two boys had learned the truth about her parentage, Stefan chose to distance himself, he chose to honor his mother, and not associate with the symbol of his Lord Father's infidelity.

Nicholai, already an outcast because of his magic, did not. The Ostwick Circle was not as confining as other circles of magi; he had still been able to visit.

He…he had smiled at her, and embraced her, he had **actually** embraced her.

He…he had called her _sister._

It had been touching.

It had been sweet, but in the end it did not matter, she had a job to do.

I love Nicholai, she thought, I _loved_ him.

 _But now…I'm going to murder him._

 _I_ _ **must**_ _murder him._

Natalya frowned.

It was not like she would get nothing out of this. Bann Trevelyan understood what it was he was asking. He understood that such a task was not some two copper job.

He understood, and had promised to grant Natalya her price.

This was not about her, not entirely, it was about the future, her future…

…The future that would spring from her blood.

Recently, she had managed to catch the eye, of Lord Oliver Pentaghast of Nevarra. Lord Oliver was handsome, smart, and ambitious. He realized that the Pentaghast line was failing in his homeland. He recognized that the time of King Markus would soon be coming to a close.

House Pentaghast needed new blood. It needed to change.

Natalya would happily bring about that change.

She had wasted little time. After she and Oliver had become lovers, she had…removed several of his cousins, those most likely to block his path to the throne when King Markus went to the Maker's side. It _had_ been good work, and her Oliver appreciated it, but there was still a problem.

Natalya was a _bastard_. She might have noble blood on her father's side, but her mother had been a commoner. A bastard could not ascend to any throne. Right now, the only thing she could be to Oliver was his mistress…

She refused to accept that.

She…wanted more.

It was a horrible thing that the Chantry had asked of their father, to have his son killed, his own flesh and blood. He knew that Natalya would do it clean, that Nicholai would not suffer.

Once that was done, he had promised to give her the one thing that would make her happy. He would finally, acknowledge her. After years of pretending he would finally stand before the chantry and claim her as his daughter.

She would finally be Natalya of House Trevelyan, a Lady of Ostwick.

Then…she and Oliver could have _everything_ they wanted. They could be wed properly, she would continue to aid him in his quest to ascend, and when King Markus finally went to the Maker's side, there would be a **new** power in Nevarra.

King Oliver I and his beloved wife Queen Natalya.

That…is what this was all about. It was about building a new world, a _better_ world.

She would not let her children be born the children of a simple mistress, a bastard. They would be the scions of the new Nevarran royal line, future kings and queens.

That was the life she was willing to die for, the life she was willing to kill for.

She bowed her head in prayer.

The mage rebellion was _losing_ , the Templars were **too strong** , and it was only a matter of time until it all collapsed. Nicholai would either be executed or made tranquil, his life was forfeit.

It was better he died to make the world a better place.

If she could make the world a better place for her children, she would. This was not about her being selfish.

It was about _their_ family.

 _Family_ always took care of _family_.

Father had been quite clear, Nicholai was not to suffer. She had prepared a special poison just for him; it was called the sweet goodnight. A few drops in water were odorless, and tasteless.

She would find him, they would greet each other as family, and they would then share a meal. She would bring the wine. He would be very sleepy by the time the meal was done.

He would go to bed. She would leave Haven, by the time anyone found her brother's body; she would be halfway to Amaranthine, mission accomplished.

He would **not** suffer, he would simply go to sleep, and his heart would beat slower and slower, and then…it would stop.

Quick, easy, and painless.

It was better than what the Templars no doubt had in mind, she…

"Is something wrong child?"

A lone sister stood before her, her face wrinkled and careworn like old leather. Yet she moved with surprising swiftness, but Natalya sensed no threat here. She, like most of her kind, were _simply_ eager to bring comfort to the masses.

The bard smiled, realizing that she was crying. She wiped idly at her face.

"My brother is dying sister," she informed the woman, "I was simply asking for Maker to take him into his arms."

The older woman nodded.

"May your brother find peace," the sister said, "May he forever walk with he, who is his Maker."

Natalya smiled slightly.

"Yes," she agreed, "May he _finally_ know peace."

IOI

She left the chantry and began the long walk to the temple of sacred ashes. According to the sister, all the mages were there, at least until the first round of negotiations were over.

She hoped to catch Nicholai off guard, if he asked, she was here representing their family, observing the conclave for their noble father.

It was…not _entirely_ a lie.

She passed by many Templars and even a few mages as she made her way up the path. Several glared at her, or looked at her lustfully. Natalya was used to that, beauty could be a curse sometimes, but it was one she bore well.

She looked up at the mountain top, the temple of sacred ashes appeared before her, its grand spires shinning in the fading sun. The snow…

 **KRRRRRA-KOOM!**

A green flash filled the valley, momentarily blinding Natalya, and anyone else looking up at the mountain, her hand went to face, but moved away quickly as the ground shook beneath her.

Spots danced before the woman's eyes, but even that did not hide what was happening!

Everyone in the valley gasped in horror.

The temple _exploded_ outward, stone flew across the valley as the trees cracked from the force of the blast.

The shockwave rolled down the mountain, snatching up everything in its path. Rubble, trees, even people went flying as a wall of smoke and debris blasted its way down the path.

Shrieking in horror, Natalya turned to run.

She was **not** far enough away to escape the blast.

She cried out as the shockwave picked her up and flung her into the air. She tried to orient herself, find some way to stop herself from being pulverized by either the fall or flying debris.

Templars and mages flew together, many broken by the force of the blast, they had been far closer that Natalya, and had no doubt died instantly.

A strange peace settled over her as she fell, end over end. Something struck her head, **hard** , pain spiked through her.

She had come here to end Nicholai, but instead had found her own death.

She had come here to find a new beginning through an end, and perhaps she had.

 _This **was** her end._

And as the world fell to black she knew.

If her brother had been in the temple…?

Her mission was at an end.

But there would be no marriage in her future, no crown, and no children….

All she would get was darkness…

…and…the end.


	12. The Prisoner

**Chapter 12: The Prisoner**

 _Pain and confusion._

That was the world that Nicholai Trevelyan woke up to. Restraints dug into his wrists, shackles left his hands bloody. Slowly, the mage came back to consciousness, not sure where he was, or what was going on.

He tried to sit up, but was weighed down; he blinked trying to see in the dim light. He was surrounded by soldiers, a ring of steel, sword blades pointed at his chest.

Not Templars, he noted, the armor was wrong, village militia maybe, definitely Ferelden…

Trevelyan shook his head, trying to make sense of what was going on. He…he tried to remember how he had found his way here. The last thing he remembered…

The last thing…

The last…

"Ahhhh!"

His gasp echoed in the darkness, his hand felt like it was on fire, that it was burning in liquid fire, or perhaps about to freeze off, yellow-green light crackled from the palm of his right hand.

He pushed back the pain, as his sword masters had taught him to do long ago, and tried to turn his hand over, not an easy thing being so bound. The guards tensed but did not raise their blades to attack him.

Finally, he was able to turn it just enough, and…

 **PAIN!**

He hissed, almost passing out again from the burning, freezing, whatever it was…that now flared into his flesh.

Trevelyan winced, struggling to remain upright, struggling to keep from vomiting, trying to figure out what in the void had happened.

 _What in Andraste's name was going on?!_

He tried to think, to recall how exactly he had come to be in this place. For the life of him, he could not do it, when he did try to remember…

 _The air was cold, yet his skin felt like it was burning, he awoke on an outcropping of hard rock. The chittering and clacking of claws and mandibles brought him back to full wakefulness._

 _Pale spider like creatures skittered out of the mist; they were everywhere, coming towards him, advancing like an unstoppable wave, a wave that only wanted to consume him._

 _He tried to run, to climb, the rock was slick under his grasping fingers, he reached up, a pale white light shone down upon him, he…_

 _He gasped._

 _A woman, a woman wrapped in white light, she reached down to him, offering him safety, offering to pull him away from the chittering monsters that were even now closing on him._

 _He reached up, struggling to take her hand. If he took her hand he would be safe._

 _He reached, and reached, and then just when he thought their fingers would meet. He…_

The door before him swung open, the loud creek of metal hinges shook him from his memory, all thought of the woman in white faded.

He looked up, even though he feared he would not like what he saw coming. He suspected that his death had finally decided to make its appearance, that the ring of blades around him would close, and end his life in a spray of blood and agony.

Two women stood before him. Their slender, yet still feminine forms shrouded in the garb of the chantry. Normally he would have tried some witty remark, but the pain throbbing from the glowing mark robbed him of all of his roguish charm. Of the two women, the one closest to him was hooded; a gambeson of fine chain and leather protected her from neck to foot. Beneath the shadow of her cowl he could make out a pair of glittering eyes, pale skin, and a small but pretty mouth. She moved with an almost feline grace as she took position just to his left.

The woman in the hood had the grace of a shadow. Her companion was something else.

This woman, moved like a storm, implacable, and dangerous.

She would have been considered quite beautiful, if her face was not so hard and intense. Her features were barely marred by the battle scars she received, if anything, it made her look more exciting. Her black hair was cut short, its raven color blending in with the black battle armor she wore. Two fierce dark eyes radiated barely controlled anger and hate as she stared down at him.

The mage's eyes narrowed.

Both women wore the mark of the chantry, the sunburst insignia that had once been a symbol of uncontested power. The dark haired warrior's tunic bore the sigil of the all seeing eye….

…The mark of the Seekers of Truth.

Again he considered that he had been captured by the Templars. It would explain the presence of a Seeker here. Ove the last few months, the Templar order had become little more than the Seekers' lap dogs, Fighting and dying where ever the Lord Seeker decreed.

Trevelyan tried to remain defiant in the face of the warrior woman. She paced before him llke a lioness, a predator ready to devour its prey.

If this was all some trap by the Templars, he refused to give them the satisfaction of begging for his life.

They could kill him if they liked. They could make him tranquil if they preferred, but they would not see him cower before them, he was still Pieter Trevelyan's son after all.

He would meet his end as a man, not a mouse.

He heard the Seeker's fingers curl into angry fists inside her gauntlets. She looked like she was ready to strike him; her friend in the hood said nothing, simply watching what was happening with a sense of cool dispassion.

 _That one,_ he thought , _is_ _ **not**_ _a Seeker or a Templar, she doesn't have the right presence for it, but she is something though._

He glanced up at her, trying to figure out what he role was in all this.

Alas she remained an enigma, at least for now. The Seeker, however, was a known commodity.

He returned his attention to her.

Once again his eyes met the warrior's she glared down at him with a look of pure hate.

 _We've never met_ , he thought, _he certainly would have remembered meeting someone like this._

 _Why then so much hate?_

I've done **nothing** to her.

It was only then that the warrior found her voice, it was clipped and cool, the voice of a true warrior, her accent…northern Orlesian, perhaps…Nevarran? He blinked when he heard her question, not quite sure how to react.

"Tell me why we should not kill you now?" she demanded.

Trevelyan shrugged; Templars had been trying to kill him for over a year now.

He did not think that they needed much of an excuse.

If she noticed his response, she did not show it, she was too lost in her anger.

"The Conclave **is** destroyed," she spat, "Everyone who was in attendance is _dead_."

She kneeled down before him, her dark eyes boring into his green ones.

"Everyone…except **you.** "

Nicholai's head spun, he…he was still trying to process what he had just heard.

The Conclave? Destroyed?

He…he had only just been there. He had just pulled Gillian aside, he had asked her to take his place while he…he…

He blinked.

Gillian?

The beautiful Lucrosian's face sprang into his mind. She had been at the Conclave, at his side. If what the Seeker was telling him was true, then…then…

He felt a sudden sense of vertigo; he fought down the urge to throw up.

Gillian…Gilly, if the Conclave was gone then…then…

She…she was gone **too**.

The mere thought paralyzed him, he did not even respond when the Seeker yanked his hand up, displaying the magic at play there.

"Explain… **this**?" she demanded.

The mark flared once again, making Nicholai wince.

The pain, however, did serve its purpose.

He blinked, pushing back grief and shock.

He found his voice again, surprisingly.

"I…" he stammered, "I…I can't."

The Seeker whirled on him, her anger only growing at his answer.

"What do you mean you can't," she spat.

"I don't know what it is," he hissed, "I've never seen anything…"

She grabbed at his shirt pulling him in close.

"YOU'RE **LYING** ," she snarled, raising her hand.

He waited for her to strike him, surprisingly, her ally intervened. She pulled the angry seeker back.

"Enough," the hooded woman said, her accent hinting at much time spent among the Orlesian nobility, or perhaps at the Grand Cathedral in Val Royeaux itself.

"We need him Cassandra," she said, blocking her comrade from trying to do more damage to their prisoner.

The hooded woman turned to him.

"Do you know what is going on?" she asked, "Do you know what happened? How this all began?"

Nicholai closed his eyes, trying to find the answer the other woman sought. He understood the concept of the bad guard/good guard routine.

He was willing to play along, at least, for now.

He wanted to find out what had happened at the conclave.

He wanted to know what had happened to Gillian.

He took a deep breath.

"I…I was running. They were after me, something that I could not truly explain, then…then I saw…a woman."

The hooded figure blinked.

"A woman?" she repeated.

Nicholai nodded.

"She…reached down to me, tried to save me, then…then I woke up here."

He shook his head.

"That is all I know," he said.

"I swear it."

The woman in the hood let her hand drift to her lips. Her eyes glittered beneath her cowl, even in the dim light of the dungeon in which they found themselves.

The warrior woman placed a hand on her companion's shoulder, when she spoke her voice was soft, far from the angry snarl that had been directed at him mere moments ago.

"Go to the forward camp, Leliana," the warrior, Cassandra said as she looked down on their prisoner.

"I will take him to the rift."

The hooded woman, Leliana, he had heard her called nodded; she leaned in whispering something in Cassandra's ear, something that the mage could not hear. The warrior nodded and the warrior slipped back into the hall.

The Seeker glared at Trevelyan, she looked at him as if he was some foul villain, that he had been caught committing the worst crime in all of Thedas. He could not deny that he flinched when she stepped forward, one of the guards handing her keys to his shackles. He held out his hands, letting her remove the restraints. Some might have thought that an opportunity. That once his hands were free he might just be able to escape.

He did not even try.

What the Seeker, what Cassandra had said about the Conclave, filled him with dread, but also…curiosity.

He wanted to know what happened.

He wanted to know what had happened to Gillian.

Cassandra removed his restraints, but just as quickly bound his hands with length of rope. The Seeker knew just the right type of knots to keep her prisoner from using his hands to cast spells. Her eyes were filled with silent warning. If he tried to speak even the simplest of spells she would cut him down where he stood.

This one was not the type to make idle threats.

He would die if he even considered causing a fuss.

Still, she could not kill his curiosity

He needed to know what was going on.

"What has happened?" he asked.

The Seekers brow furrowed, an angry retort already forming on her lips, but that was as far as it got.

"It is better that you see for yourself, I think," she answered.

She gestured him to follow, two of the guards who had been watching him formed up in front of her, while two more stood behind him, weapons at the ready.

Nicholai did not even try to protest.

If the Seeker wanted him dead, he would be.

He shuffled after her, his legs feeling more than a little stiff after…

His brow furrowed.

How long had he been in that cell exactly? How many days had he just laid their unconscious?

He could not say for certain, he…

The mark on his hand pulsed again. His fingers curled inward, his nails dug into the flesh of palm, trying to dig out the foul magic that had somehow become bonded to his skin.

Nicholai took a deep breath, and tried to fight through the pain.

He took one staggering step, and then another.

Cassandra said she was taking him to "the rift," whatever that meant.

The mage's eyes narrowed.

If this rift had something to do with the destruction of the Conclave, he wanted to see it with his own eyes.

Then they could get started on fixing things, on making things alright again.

He did not know what the rift was, and he did not care.

It was now an enemy.

He intended to take care of that enemy…and Andraste help anyone who tried to get in **his** way.

For my dead brothers and sisters, he thought, just a tear came to his eye.

For her, he thought.

For Gillian.


	13. Survival

**Chapter 13: Survival**

 _It was_ **so** _quiet._

Natalya lay in a ditch next to the road that one led up to the Temple of Sacred ashes, she had fallen here after the shockwave that had shook the entire valley finally dissipated. Everything seemed very far away here, life seemed so distant. She could not say how long she had lain there, have buried by debris and falling snow…

Time seemed to have no meaning anymore, it flowed slowly on, but to her…it had no meaning.

The very world seemed to have stopped.

 _She was alone…_

… _and…it was so quiet._

All around her lay the bodies of the dead, Templar, mage, and priest, all equal in death. There were so many, all cast down here, all smashed by the massive explosion that had washed down the mountain like an avalanche, their cloudy empty eyes turned up to the sky…staring at nothing.

Natalya did not even have the strength to shiver, she simply lay there, half buried in the snow, she could not move her left arm, and could distantly sense the many small cuts and scrapes stinging her damaged body. It was pain of sorts, but a distant pain, remote, fading into nothing…

Just like her apparently, slowly… **she** was fading into nothingness.

She stared up at the shattered sky, clouds swirled and thunder rumbled, every once and a while a pulse of yellow green light would flicker overhead, and with each flicker, more fire rained down from the sky.

A single tear ran down her bruised cheeks, it was not from the pain, that was too far away now to be anything but an annoyance, no what haunted her most now, was life…or rather…the life that she would never know.

Her thoughts drifted back to her childhood. Her mother reading reports while little Nattie Song, her daughter, played with her dolls by the fire. she remembered meeting the Bann for the first time, the hours of training and teaching, etiquette, manners, dancing, poison, and swordplay.

Natalya whimpered.

She remembered when the Bann came to her, telling her that her mother was dead, that she had fallen on mission. She had been so young then, nine…maybe ten. He had taken her into his arms then, soothing her, wiping away her tears. It was the only time in her life that her father had done that, that he had shown her the least bit of affection, when he…when he had finally acted like the father he should have been to her.

But even that act of kindness served its purpose, he had lost his agent when her mother died, in her, he had found another one, a **better** one.

Natalya was his blood.

He knew even then…

That she would _never_ betray her own blood.

Then at thirteen she had attended her first salon, she had walked in on the arm of young Nicholai, still just an apprentice mage then, but an apprentice from a powerful family.

Unlike the children of the poor, mages from **rich** families had a somewhat better life.

Nicholai had made her laugh, he had treated her like a person, not simply a tool to be used and then discarded, but of course even that would not last. Nicholai visited less and less as the years went by, as the relationship between the chantry and mages degraded further, and she spent more and more of her own time doing what was needed to secure her father's wealth and position.

Nicholai, he…he had been her friend, treated her like a sister, a **real** sister, and she never thought twice when the Bann came to her with this mission, but then again, what could she do?

 _Nicholai needed to die._

It was the only way that she would be able to **truly** live.

She remembered one of her great aunt's soirees, she had been there…in Bann Pieter's stead, delivering messages and keeping an eye on his many business partners. The Bann had taken Stefan to Starkhaven, to speak with Prince Goran, and secure their newest trade agreement.

She…she had been very busy that night, but not so busy that she had not had time for herself.

…That…that had been the night.

The night she had first met Oliver, the night she learned what life could truly be, if only she had the courage to grab it.

Oliver, her sweet dear Oliver, had been taken with her the moment their eyes had met across a crowded room; he had been perfect, tall, lean, and handsome. His short dark hair, his beard, and dark brown eyes had pinned her in her place, in that moment she had sensed the truth, she had met more than simple noble, she had found someone not unlike herself, a beautiful predator, and she…was to be his prey.

He had _frightened_ her, and _excited_ her all at the same time.

They had talked to dawn that first night, a few weeks later she had journeyed with him to one of his family's estates near Wycome, it…it had been a time that she would never forget, could never forget.

The first time they had made love had been during that journey. They had been in the carriage, hidden behind the heavy curtains. Oliver fell on her like a wolf upon a sheep. His hunger unparalleled, his savagery undeniable, he had pulled up her dress and pulled down her smalls and had her.

She…she had not resisted; he had been so fierce, so savage. In that moment she saw the dragon hunter that was in the soul of all the Pentaghast.

He had been **her** warrior, **her** king.

In that moment, she realized that she would be **his, his** wife, and **his** queen.

 _Nothing would stand in their way._

She had gotten to work shortly after returning to Ostwick, removing those cousins most likely to cause trouble when King Markus died.

Oliver had been more than impressed, he had been enamored, but even that was not enough.

Despite his own desires, she could not be what he needed her to be, not without her father's recognition.

Without that, she was doomed to be a bastard…

…forever.

The very thought made her whimper.

It…it was **not** fair! It was not fair at all!

She could not help the way she was born!

She had seen the explosion. Nicholai **had** to be dead; no one could have survived that blast. Maker knew. She likely wouldn't…

…she had _accomplished_ her mission, Nicholai was dead, but it was unlikely that she would live much longer.

She thought of Oliver, what would he do when he learned of her death? Then she thought of her father, he would be saddened that she and Nicholai were both gone, but at the same time, he would likely be relieved as well.

If she died here, he would have no reason to worry about the backlash of claiming her as his child, never have to worry about what Stefan or Lady Tatiana would say about Nicholai's death.

He would grieve, but he would also be free of potential embarrassment…

He would be free of **her**.

A brief moment of anger flashed through her, she tried to struggle, tried to rise and prove him wrong!

All she could manage was a few twitches.

She whimpered again, but still she did not surrender.

She tried to cry out, but all that came from her throat was a whisper, a straggled cry.

" _Help."_

She felt herself growing sleepy; soon it would be over, she knew, soon there would be nothing left to fight for.

 _No recognition._

 _No husband._

 _No crown._

 _No little princes and princesses in her future. No sweet babes to call her mother._

 _She would be gone…_

… _just…_

… _gone._

" **Maker! It _is_ the end of the world!"**

" **Stow that talk you!"**

 **"But it is isn't it? Look at that sky, tell me this is not the end?"**

 **"Just do your job!"**

The voices drew closer, voices tinged with barely controlled panic. Natalya struggled to hear them, had…had she imagined them?

She did not think so.

"More over here, Jon, no down here you fool, let's check 'em and report back to the Seeker."

" **But they're all dead!"**

"We don't know that."

She heard the sound of armor and leather. She could smell sweat and fear. Shadows passed over her but she could not see who they were.

She tried to move again.

 **"Elric! Look! I…I think that one is moving!"**

 _"Help,"_ Natalya whispered. Then again with as much strength she could muster, she tried again.

"Help. Please."

A fierce looking man in dirty leathers appeared over her, his brown eyes deep with concern.

" **Miss? Miss,** can you hear me?"

Natalya blinked and tried to move.

"Help," she whimpered weakly.

She felt strong arms wrap around her.

"Easy now," she heard Jon say.

"I got her," Elric cooed.

He smiled down at her.

"It will be alright, Miss. Try to hold on, we…we will get you to the healers, okay?"

"Just hold on," Jon added, "Just hold on."

Natalya nodded, or at least she tried to.

He plucked her from the snow like she weighed nothing. Natalya sighed as her head fell against his chest.

He was very careful as he carried her back up the hill, back up to the road. Natalya suspected this was all some fevered dream, one last desire to be rescued before she succumbed to her injuries…

As it turned out, she was wrong.

These men were truly **here.**

They were going to save her.

She…was going to live.

IOI

The men took her to what they called the forward camp. There were only a few survivors here, only about seven men and women including herself. Several priests tended to the wounded why soldiers and scouts rushed around, trying to deal with the crisis that was now before them.

Natalya lay on a dirty blanket under a lean-to, there had been another survivor here when they had first brought her in, but he had apparently died, it was a miracle perhaps that she had not joined him. According to the priest, she had spent the last two days lying in that ditch. How she had not succumbed to either the elements or her injuries none could say.

But she was alive, that was what was important, she would not join the corpses lined up a few steps away, they would not wrap her in a white tarp, and leave her to be burned with the others.

She was alive.

The thought almost made her smile.

She **was** alive.

The priests gave her broth and applied elf root poultices to her small cuts and scrapes. They had a mage or two here as well, offering healing magic to any who required it. It was one of these who repaired her broken arm, and the wound in her head. For the first time since the explosion her thoughts were clear, and she was able to take stock of just what had happened.

She restrained herself from draining the broth in a single gulp. She had no desire to lose it, not after being so near death, for now…she just needed to take it easy.

 _Rest._

 _Recover._

 _Survive._

Thunder rumbled overhead as another pulse of yellow green light flashed through the sky.

Natalya did not need to glance up to know what had caused it; she had seen it the first time they had brought her here.

Natalya frowned.

She had heard people calling it "The Breach." It was a massive rift into the fade, the realm of spirits and demons. The explosion at the Conclave had apparently opened it, now demons were flowing through it into the mortal world, and what was worse, smaller rifts were spreading in its waking, bringing even more demons here.

The very thought made her shudder.

Fire continued to rain down on Haven and the surrounding mountain peaks. Balls of fire destroyed trees and ravaged the tiny buildings. Demons slithered through the forest hunting survivors or anyone unfortunate enough to cross their path.

She had managed to catch small snippets of conversations between those in charge here, not that there were many such people left, most of them had all been at the Conclave when…when it…

Another shiver ran down her spine.

They were _dead_.

They were **all** dead.

Divine Justinia, the leaders of the mages and Templars, they were all dead. Now those few priests and mothers here scrambled to find out exactly what happened…

…not to mention find out who to blame.

Natalya had heard many rumors over the last few hours. Some say that this was the Maker's divine punishment that he had finally grown tired of the race of men, and had decided to let the demons of the fade destroy them. Another rumor said that Anders, the mad mage who had blown up the chantry in Kirkwall was behind this attack. That he had somehow survived Kirkwall, and was taking steps to continue the war between the mages and Templars. She…she had even heard rumors of a survivor, that someone had literally walked out of the fade after the explosion, returning from the dead, but that seemed as improbable as any of the other tales she had heard.

Natalya finished her broth with a sigh, and lay back down.

Whatever had happened, one thing was certain, the people who had been attendance at the Conclave were gone.

A hint of a smile teased at her lips.

Nicholai had been at the Conclave.

 _Nicholai Trevelyan **was** dead._

 _He had to be._

The though did not please her, success warred with shame. She had not looked forward to doing the deed herself, but, if the explosion had done it for her, well…

She was not about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Nicholai, her brother, was dead.

she would mourn later, but for now...

Her mission here was now complete.

Again the sky rumbled, but this time she paid it no mind.

As soon as she was strong enough, she would make her way out of Haven. She would need to be careful, rumors of renewed Mage-Templar fighting around the mountains had grown as news of the Divine's death spread.

Still, with the mage leadership decimated, and the Templars left directionless it was possible that she would be able to slip through, make her way to Amaranthine, and from there catch a ship back to Ostwick.

She was already mentally composing the report she would give to the Bann.

It was horrible, Milord, just horrible. I…I poor Nicholai, he…he did not even stand a chance.

If Lady Tatiana asked what she had been doing here, she would simply say she had been representing the interests of their family, which was true. Stefan might cry foul play, the friendship they had once enjoyed had become frayed over the years, but in this case, there had been nothing of the sort.

The Conclave **explosion** had killed Nicholai, not _her._

 _She had not had to do, yet she would still be able to reap the benefits._

 _It was the best of two worlds surely._

A single joyous tear ran down her cheeks.

She was grateful that she had not had to do the deed herself.

Her hands, in this anyway, were clean.

Still, she would not let her father forget his promise, Nicholai was dead, just as he had requested, now he would pay her what was owed. After that she would leave Ostwick for Nevarra, her and her darling Oliver…

Oh the intrigues that awaited them in King Markus' court. Intrigues that would lead them to throne itself, once King Markus was finally out of the way.

She almost giggled.

Was the world ending, she did not think so. She had _faith_ in the chantry. They would sort this mess out, and once the mages were brought to heel, they would aid Thedas in sealing this breach. Of course by then, she intended to be very, very far away. She would be living in Nevarra with her new husband, maybe even with child by that point.

The thought of having children filled her with delight. She had always wanted a family of her own, little boys and girls both. Children who would love her, and never know what she had gone through to give them a better life.

She wondered what she would have first, boy or girl?

If it was a boy, she would name it Nicholai, after all…

If it was not for her dear brother, she would never have gotten this far, never. She…

A loud crash woke her from her honeyed daydreams.

Panicked cries rang out through the forward camp, warriors and scouts rushed back and forth…

A fade rift had opened right in front of the main gate.

Demons were assaulting the forward camp.

Natalya tried to rise, to escape, but discovered that she could not; she was still too weak from her ordeal.

A terrifying thought struck her.

What if the demons got in?!

How would she defend herself?

She almost cried out in fury!

No! The Maker was **not** that cruel! She had survived the explosion, held on for days! She had lived long enough to be rescued.

This could not be her end, not when she was so close to having everything she wanted!

No!

The Maker was **not** that cruel!

More shouts rang out, orders to cover Lady Pentaghast.

Natalya was surprised to hear that name.

A Pentaghast? Here? How could…?

She heard the squeals of demons, the clash of steel and the crackle of magic, that and a sound she did not recognize, a loud popping sound…

…After that…silence.

"The Danger _has_ passed, open the gates!"

Again Natalya blinked.

Had all the demons been killed?

What about the rift they sprang from, there was no way to close the rifts; everything she had heard up to this point seemed to suggest that, she…

she heard voices, some angry, some mewling.

"You have done enough already!"

"We are not to blame Chancellor!"

"We must call a retreat!"

"You are **no** t in charge here."

"This man should be restrained, taken to the capital!"

"He can help us Chancellor."

"Order me?! You are a glorified clerk, a bureaucrat!

We serve the Divine, the chantry, as you well know."

Natalya struggled to sit up; she almost dragged herself to mouth of the lean to. Her curiosity was peaked.

She had to see who was arguing.

Had the chantry found someone who could seal the rifts?

Such a man would be extremely valuable in these troubled times.

She…she needed to see him, his face.

It would be good for her report.

She managed to do it; she fought against fatigue and dragged herself out.

"So there is no one in charge here?" a familiar voice said.

"You **killed** everyone who was in charge."

She heard an amused snort.

"Well...I have been busy, haven't I?"

She looked up, and as she did her eyes widened with shock.

It was an odd group, a man in robes of the chantry, a sister in habit with a long armored gambeson. A beardless dwarf with a duster coat, a bald elf, and woman in Seeker armor, and…and…

Her heart nearly jumped into her throat.

"No," she murmured.

She saw the man, the one who had sounded so amused by the Lord Chancellor's bluster, the one who had sealed the rift; he wore dirty armor, the kind a common mercenary might wear. It fit him poorly making her think it had not been his originally. He gripped a staff in his left hand. He…

"No," she whimpered again.

He had the look of a man who had been imprisoned, his face was dirty, and even from here, she could tell he stank of dungeons, his dark blond hair was matted with grime and dried sweat. His chin was covered with the scruffy growth of a three day old beard.

Tears ran down her cheeks.

"No," she almost sobbed.

But the worst were the eyes, they held a fierceness she did not recognize, but given the hardships of the last year, anyone would be hardened, even him. He…he…

Natalya's dreams dashed, her heart plummeted into her stomach.

The world spun crazily.

"No, it…it can't be…it…it is **not** fair, not…fai…"

Natalya's eyes rolled back as she slumped against the cold hard stone. One of the sisters saw this and went to her aid, none of the people speaking with the chancellor noticed her collapse.

She would wake a few hours later, but by then it was all over.

The breach was stabilized.

Haven was saved. And Thedas…had a new hero.

His name was Nicholai Trevelyan, mage of the Circle of Ostwick.

The one everyone was now calling...the Herald of Andraste!

When she awoke, she sobbed, the sister tending her thought it was with fear, but it wasn't…

It was with frustration, anger…

FURY!

Nicholai Trevelyan **was** alive!

Natalya Song, otherwise known as Natalya Trevelyan, bastard daughter of Bann Pieter Trevelyan of Ostwick…

...Had failed.

In that moment, she came to accept one sad fact.

The Maker was **that** cruel.

It wasn't right.

It wasn't fair, but that was the way it was.

Her dreams were gone.

Nicholai was the talk of the village, the hero. She would have more luck trying to reach the Maker himself than her brother.

Any further attempt on his life would be foolish, suicidal, she would never be able to make the kill and escape now.

It is gone, she thought morosely.

It was all gone!

All she had left now was one thing and one thing only…

Survival.

She _would_ not let it go.

She _would_ endure.

She would survive, and then…she would find a way out of this.

Plans would need to be changed, she would need to adapt.

Killing the Herald of Andraste, the only one who could seal the rifts was no longer an option.

Nicholai had _changed_ the rules, he had become a hero.

Now she had to do the same.

There had to be a way out of this.

There had to be!

 **A/N: Made some additions, hope you all liked them. Feel free to write a review, you know I love them.**

 **DG**


	14. Allies

**Chapter 14: Allies**

" **DROP YOUR WEAPON! NOW!"**

Trevelyan whirled as the shade he had been engaging crumbled into dust. The Seeker had just finished with her own foe, her long sword ending the foul creature's existence.

She was glaring daggers at him, her eyes never leaving the recently acquired staff in his hand.

He hated to admit it, but the woman was _impressive_ , most would have been shaken by what they had just faced, but the warrior woman remained calm, _lethally glacially calm_.

One _had_ to respect that.

Their survival in itself was an impressive feat. Considering they had just tumbled off a collapsing bridge, just managing to not be killed or wounded by the falling stone or debris, not to mention the fel fire that continued to fall from the breach overhead.

Now they stood facing each other, the Seeker's sword raised almost to his chin, her eyes filled with cold determination.

Nicholai did not flinch under that cold stare, nor did he simply throw down his weapon like a good little mage.

His noble temper flared.

After what he had learned, he understood the woman's reaction. The Divine was dead, and many others with her. No doubt the woman had lost both friends and colleagues in that explosion.

He could sympathize.

He had lost friends too.

He had lost Gillian.

IOI

He thought of her, her smile, the way the wind played through her hair. She had trusted him enough to come here with him. Ferelden had not been the safe harbor they had hoped it would be. Mages were not the only people fleeing here. Rogue Templars, men and women who were not pleased with the Templar leadership had come as well, come and turned to leading bands of what they called the faithful against rebel mages on their lands, including Trevelyan and his followers. These armed bands were poorly trained, and only moderately armed, they were dealt with easily enough by Nicholai and his allies, but each victory was proving to be pyric one. The Ferelden Templars looked at these victories as acts of murder, mages preying on _innocent_ civilians. Anger grew among his followers when they heard this, he preached patience, the need to rebuild before they went back on the offensive, more than a few of his followers refused to listen. Kurtz had ended up killing one mage for nearly attacking Nicholai at one point, attacking and then starting to turn into an abomination during one of their meetings. The execution of one of their own, out of control or not, had had a chilling effect on those who had believed in him.

The words _traitor_ and _coward_ were thrown at him with little thought of what he had accomplished up to this point. Those that had lost friends at Tantervale, and were now being harried here in Ferelden no longer trusted his leadership.

They thought that they could do better on their own, they splintered.

They fled.

Many who broke off **did** start attacking farms and villages, if they were being accused of a crime, they might as well been committing one. He tried to bring them under control, keep things from spiraling further out of control, but…things had gone too far.

The cry for blood and vengeance now drowned out reason.

Soon, he no longer had a fighting force; they were reduced to a band of refugees with Kurtz and a few of his sellswords to protect them.

Their dreams of forcing the Templars to the negotiating table died a slow choking death. Now…all they could do was try and survive, survive, and hope for a miracle.

When Gillian had received word of the Conclave, they had both jumped at the chance. Even if the Most Holy could not convince everyone to lay down their arms, then at least she might be able to convince enough Templars and mages to see sense, see sense and work together to end the chaos.

Trevelyan remembered well what had happened at _Asch's Crossing_. Not all mages would survive this, some had gone too far, the same could be said for the Templars, but with the Divine's help, maybe the two groups could preserve enough of what they once were to make a new start…a new beginning.

He had went to the Conclave, eager to speak on behalf of the mages, to remind Thedas of what they had been to Thedas since the Circle had been founded. That the mages had been **their** allies, defenders that had stood with the kingdoms and people they ruled, fought beside them against the darkspawn, the Imperium, and the Qunari.

He had wanted the people to remember that, to remember who they were, and what they might become.

They had come to the Conclave…

…now…all that was gone.

IOI

Trevelyan met the Seeker's angry glare with one of his own. He did not lower his staff, he did not back down.

He had seen the look in the eyes of the people of Haven, they had no doubt that he was guilty, that he had destroyed the Conclave. The Seeker had said that they needed to feel that blame. She had promised him a trial, but he did not think for one moment that it would be fair.

Nicholai's eyes narrowed.

He had lost everything, his Circle, his allies, his lover, and now this Seeker was pointing a sword at him. He had promised to do what he could to aid her and she **dared** pull a weapon on him.

 _How dare her!_

 _How_ _ **DARE**_ _she!_

Anyone else would have lashed out and her, screamed at her hypocrisy. He did not, he kept his calm. His anger was focused through it. He sharpened it like a lethal blade.

He was a Trevelyan, their words still held close to his heart.

 _Modest in temper, bold in deed._

 _Trevelyans are not fools, we_ _ **never**_ _behave as such_ ; his father had told him once _. We don't fly off in anger, or in a blind rage. We sit back, patiently, we_ _ **evaluate**_ _, and when the time comes to strike..._

… _We strike with boldness._

It was not time to be bold, not yet…

…not yet.

When he spoke his voice was cold and even.

He remained in control.

"I don't need a staff to be dangerous."

"Is that supposed to _**comfort**_ me?!"

"I swore to aid you, and I shall," he spat back.

Magic flared in his eyes, but he did not let it go any further.

"My ass is on the line out here," he reminded her, "Just like _yours_."

Several tense moments passed, even as fire continued to fall from the breach. Neither Seeker nor mage took their eyes off the other.

Finally, the woman sighed, sighed and lowered her weapon.

"You…you are right," she said sheathing her weapon, "You do not need a staff, but you should have one."

Trevelyan relaxed slightly, lowering his weapon, griping it like one would a walking stick.

Cassandra turned away from him.

"I should try to remember that you agreed to come willingly," she said over her shoulder.

Nicholai said nothing.

It was not much of a start, but it was a start.

She led him up across the frozen river, up a snowy hill; he could just make out stone steps in the snow, leading up into a mountain pass. He tried to remember if he had come this way before, yet his arrival at the Conclave remained elusive, his memory of those events had become slippery.

He remembered the darkness, the skittering things chasing him. He remembered the shaft of light, and a woman reaching for him, offering to pull him up, away from the things that pursued him, then…then…

Nothing.

The Seeker had said that the soldiers that had found him said he had stepped out of a fade rift, that a woman had been standing behind him, and that she had disappeared after he had emerged. She…

The breach flared again.

Trevelyan gasped, the mark on his hand flared, its magic both burning and freezing his flesh, and it was spreading.

He frowned deeply, looking down at the sparking sputtering mark.

He feared he did not have much time.

He shook his hand and tried to focus.

Reach the breach, and then try to seal it, how he was going to do that he did not know.

He heard the seeker call down to him.

"We are almost at the forward camp. You can hear the fighting."

"Who is fighting?"

"You will see soon," she promised.

"We _must_ help them."

She led him past more ruins, more destruction left in the breach's wake. Now he could hear the fighting over the keening wind, the sound of steel and the squeal of demons.

He mustered his courage, and began to summon his power.

In this battle at least, there was no middle ground.

Demons were demon, killing them would keep innocent people alive.

It was freeing in its way, liberating.

He welcomed that liberation.

They came over the hill demons and human forces were locked in combat.

Trevelyan released chain lightning on the beasts, the soldiers began to rally as the Seeker's battle cries rang out.

Nicholai leapt into the fighting, noting the small fade rift swirling in front of them, spitting out more demons. He blasted one shade, while at the same time used the mace end of his newly acquired staff to cave in the head of another.

Slowly the battle began to turn in their favor; demons fell, or retreated from the fight.

The area around the rift cleared out.

One of the defenders an elf with a bald head leapt towards Trevelyan.

"Quickly," he cried grabbing the mage's marked hand, forcing it upward, at the glowing rift, "Before more come through.

The mark on Nicholai's hand flared, as did the fade rift.

Like magic touched like magic, they linked.

Trevelyan gasped in surprise.

For the briefest of moments, he had been able to _**feel**_ the rift. The magic he was sensing was wild, almost beyond reason, but at its heart…he could sense how it all fit together, the natural lattice of how it had been formed, how the strands of power fit together keeping the whole thing open and whole.

Nicholai's eyes widened.

He had studied magic since he was elven years old, but had never experienced anything like this. The spirit mediums in the Circle might have understood what he was seeing here, what he was feeling, but he was no spirit medium.

He reached out with the glowing mark, focusing his will into it, much as he had done with every other spell he had ever learned. _In magic, will was everything_ that is what his mentors had taught him, a mage could do almost anything had they had sufficient will.

He reached out, dismantling the lattice, pushing on its weaknesses; the demons that had emerged were stunned as his power pulsed out of the rift, making them easy prey for the remaining soldiers.

The rift began to destabilize the magics breaking down as he pushed deeper into it, and then when nothing remained to hold it open…

POP!

The rift closed, its passing left Trevelyan breathless.

He shook his head and his glowing hand, the burning torture faded briefly. He looked down at the mark.

Holy shit," he thought.

He turned to the bald elf; the man had a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

"What did you do," Trevelyan asked.

"I did nothing," the elf responded, "You were the one responsible for this."

"You mean this," Trevelyan said raising his hand.

"It can help?"

"Whatever left that mark on your hand also bound the magic inside it to the breach. I theorized that its power might be the key to sealing the rifts, and it seemed that I was correct."

The elf grinned proudly.

"It seems you may hold the key to our salvation."

"Good to know," someone chuckled behind them, "I was afraid that we would be ass deep in demons forever."

Trevelyan turned, the speaker, a dwarf stepped away from the rocks he had been using for cover. Beardless with short dark blond hair, he was like no dwarf that Trevelyan had ever seen before.

The strange looking crossbow he carried was equally enigmatic. He grinned as he approached Trevelyan, Cassandra, and the elf.

The crossbowman offered his hand to the mage.

"Varric Tethras," he said, "Rogue, scoundrel, and occasionally…"

He winked at the Seeker.

"Unwilling tag along."

Cassandra glared at him, clearly not pleased with his presence.

Trevelyan blinked.

"Varric Tethras?" he repeated, "The author?"

"Among my many talents," he said with a slight bow, "You a fan?"

"I was in the circle," Trevelyan said with dry amusement, "We had plenty of time to read."

Nicholai smiled.

"When Templars were not plotting how to kill us of course."

Varric snickered at that.

Cassandra glared at both men.

"What are you doing here?" Nicholai asked, "Are you with the chantry now?"

The elf chuckled.

"Is that a _serious_ question?"

"Technically I'm a prisoner," Varric clarified, "Much like you I suppose."

"You were brought here to tell your story to the Divine," Cassandra reminded him.

"Good thing too," he said, "Bianca and I will be good company for you on your way through the valley."

"Absolutely not," the Seeker said, "You're help was appreciated Varric, but…"

"Have you seen the valley, Seeker? Your soldiers are not in control anymore."

The dwarf grinned at her.

"You need me."

She gave him a distasteful look, but did not deny the necessity of his presence.

"Ugh," she said and turned away.

"I am called Solas," the elf said offering his hand to Nicholai, "If there is to be introductions."

"Solas," Trevelyan repeated shaking the man's hand, "You seem to know quite a bit about what is going on here."

"Solas is an apostate," Cassandra informed him.

"Technically all mages are apostates; now Cassandra," he reminded her, "I have spent a great deal of time studying the fade. I offered my services after the Conclave. I did what I could to try and figure out the nature of the mark on your hand."

"He means that he kept that thing from killing you while you slept," Varric added.

Nicholai looked down at his hand, the mark continued to sputter, the pain starting to return.

"Thank you," he murmured.

Solas merely nodded in acceptance, the elf turned to Cassandra.

"I think it is safe to say that my theory was correct, Seeker. This magic is different than anything I have seen before, but it is not impossible to understand it."

He glanced towards Trevelyan.

"Your prisoner is a mage, but I doubt that he was capable of coming up with something like this. I doubt that any circle mage would be able to."

Trevelyan made a slight face at the elf's statement, hard to say if that was a compliment or an insult.

"Thanks," he said, "I think."

Solas merely gave him another enigmatic smile.

"We still need to reach the forward camp," The Seeker reminded them, she pointed down another crumbling staircase.

"This way…quickly."

The Seeker led the way, with Solas following behind her.

That left Varric and Nicholai standing together.

The dwarf drew his crossbow, and patted the stock.

"Well…Bianca is excited," he said taking after the others.

Trevelyan sighed; once again he did what he could to endure the pain of the mark, pain that was starting to grow again.

"The key to our salvation," he whispered to himself.

"Guess we will see."


	15. Old Ally

**Chapter 15: Old Ally**

"Hello Lad."

Trevelyan jumped. He whirled hand already grasping the dagger at his belt.

Kurtz stood behind him, raising his hands. The old sell-sword had an amused look on his face, not surprising considering he had just managed to sneak up on Nicholai like he was some green recruit.

The mage frowned.

He had let his guard down, something he had never done during the rebellion, never completely anyway. Sister Leliana had made Haven as secure as she could for him, but that did not mean that the unexpected was not possible.

He was currently outside the village at a small cabin not far from the main gate. He had promised Adan, their alchemist that he would look for the notes of Master Taigen one of the man's former associates. The old man had died at the Conclave, but Adan hoped that he had left his notes behind; they were not in old alchemist's shop, so Nicholai had been checking his old residence, which was where they were now…

…Where Kurtz had thought it appropriate to scare the shit out of him.

He glared at the old sell-sword he had not seen the man since they had arrived at the Conclave; he had assumed he had perished with the others. Seeing him alive…it was both a relief and annoyance, but mostly an annoyance.

"Where in Andraste's flaming tits have you been?" he demanded.

Kurtz shrugged.

"Keeping the boys from mutiny," he answered, "Soon as the conclave went up; lot of them blamed the Templars and wanted to start attacking Haven.

The older shook his head.

"Talked them down, but some still weren't happy, they fled, off killing random Templars now, as far as I know."

The news did not please Nicholai. Everything had been a whirlwind since he and Cassandra had met Varric and Solas at the forward camp. He hated to admit it, but he had not even thought about his former allies these last few weeks. Too much had happened; he was still reeling, trying to catch up.

Seeing Kurtz again he realized, helped.

"How many of our people are left?"

"Not many," Kurtz answered, "Few stayed to tend to the wounded. When we saw the breach thing in the sky stop spitting fire and demons, I started asking around who was responsible.

The older man smiled.

"Imagine my surprise when someone mentioned your name, lad, figured you were just a smoking corpse in the temple, along with everyone else."

Trevelyan's expression turned grim.

"Gillian is dead," he said, "Kira to."

Kurtz nodded.

"I know lad…sorry."

Kurtz may not have known Gillian as Nicholai had, but he had come to respect her over the last few months, and considering all the death the man had seen in his life, a simple 'sorry' was as likely as much sympathy as the mage could hope for.

"So what happened up there," the sell-sword asked, "Why are you helping these people?"

Trevelyan's brow furrowed.

There was no easy explanation.

"Things are… _complicated_ , I can't remember what happened, not yet, I got a few answers at the temple ruins, but…"

It was at that moment that the two Templars assigned to protect Nicholai caught up with him. They had been told to give the mage space, but seeing him confronted by a fully armed sell-sword.

They started to draw their blades. Kurtz responded in kind.

"WAIT!" Trevelyan called out.

"STOP!"

The three fighters froze.

Kurtz glared at the two, the man was unafraid, he had killed his share of Templar over the last few months, and likely before the war had even began. The sell-sword was not the type to back down.

Fortunately he did not have to.

"Is everything alright my lord herald?" one of the Templars asked.

"It is fine," Nicholai said quickly, "Kurtz is an old friend."

Both of the young men looked at each other, and at Kurtz. The old sell-sword was grinning, his hand rested on the hilt of his blade, Trevelyan did not doubt what would happen if the two boys drew on him.

Kurtz might have been older, but he would still cut through them like slicing a pie. He was that good, Trevelyan knew that.

The Templars relaxed, their hands drifted away from their weapons.

Kurtz did the same.

"My apologies, Milord," the second Templar said, "We were out of position, it will not happen again."

"It is fine," Trevelyan said gathering up Taigen's notes for Adan, "It is not like I don't know how to defend myself, I'm returning to Haven now."

"As you say," Both Templars said saluting him, they turned and marched out of the cabin it perfect military precision.

Kurtz chuckled.

"We spent the last year killing these holy shits," he said shaking his head, "Now you got two of them defending you."

Trevelyan snorted.

"The irony is not lost on me either," he admitted dryly.

Kurtz relaxed and fell in step beside Nicholai as they left the late alchemist's cabin. The older man waited until they were outside, before he started questioning his employer, his former employer.

"What happened at the conclave lad?"

Trevelyan sighed.

"Let us go back to my cabin," he said.

"There is a lot to tell."

IOI

The two men talked over a bottle of Antivan brandy. Trevelyan was not sure where Kurtz had gotten it, and found that he really didn't care. After everything they had faced at the Conclave, after being looked at as, well, more than he thought he was Trevelyan was happy to have someone he knew to talk to, someone who had known him before the breach.

Someone who did not look at him and think they were gazing upon the Herald of Andraste.

He told Kurtz about his and Cassandra's trek to the forward camp, how they had met Solas and Varric along the way. He also mentioned how they had come upon Chancellor Roderick. How the chantry's representative was still trying to convince them to ship Nicholai back to Val Royeaux in chains for the Divine's murder.

"Does this Roderick shit have the power to do that?" Kurtz had asked, "Ship you back to the mothers in box?"

Nicholai smirked.

"I don't think so. Roderick was an administrator, not a leader."

The mage snorted.

"The soldiers here are more likely to obey the Hero of Orlais and one of the heroes of the Blight before they take orders from some chantry bureaucrat, no matter how high he was placed before the Divine was killed."

Nicholai shook his head; he still could not believe the last part. He had not put one and one together when he had first woke up. He had not realized that the Seeker was Cassandra Pentaghast, the hero of the ten year gathering twenty years ago. Nor had he realized that Leliana was thee Leliana. That she was the legendary bard that had travelled with the wardens in their fight against the Blight, and that she was the paramour of Alim Surana, the mage Hero of Ferelden.

The mention of the elf even made a cynic like Kurtz pause.

"So where is the elf then?" he asked, "Isn't this breach thing kind of his department. He saved the world once after all."

Trevelyan frowned.

To be honest, he was wondering that himself. Surana had been quiet during the mage rebellion. Surely had he supported his brothers and sisters they might have swayed more popular support to their cause.

Yet the elf had remained silent even during the Siege of Tantervale. Nicholai had asked around about him when they had first arrived in Ferelden, especially when they came across mages that had been in the Ferelden Circle.

Alas, those mages he had talked to knew nothing.

One of the Fereldans, a red haired enchanter named Petra had claimed to have met the hero once, but that he had…changed after the Blight. He had drifted back and forth between the wardens' base in Amaranthine and the royal palace where his best friend Alistair Theirin ruled.

According to Petra, Surana came and went as he chose; his mind had not been stable after the siege of Denerim, his moods and memories had become erratic. He had been seen less and less in either Denerim or Amaranthine, and then…finally…one day.

He was gone.

Trevelyan had thought to ask Sister Leliana about the elven warden. Had they been as close as the minstrels claimed, then perhaps she knew where he had gone, and why he had not made his way to Haven after everything that had happened.

Nicholai shook his head.

He would not have minded seeing Alim Surana come wandering into Haven and take charge, half-mad or not.

Seeing a legendary hero would definitely distract everyone from thinking he was the Herald of Andraste.

The mage took a hard pull of brandy and sighed.

He had had his fill of being responsible for people over the last few months.

He would have been happy to step aside and let someone else do it.

"We can't wait for the hero," he told Kurtz, "We're going to have to handle the breach ourselves."

The sell-sword gave him an arched look.

"We?"

Trevelyan nodded.

"I'm tied up in this," he said showing Kurtz his marked hand, it no longer hurt, and the mark was no longer growing, yet…

…Reports continued to filter in, fade rifts and demons popping up all over Ferelden and Orlais. The breach might have been stabilized, but that had not stopped its bastard children from being a threat.

"Whatever marked me," he said gesturing to his palm, "It's part of all this."

He told Kurtz about the temple ruins, about seeing echoes of his confrontation with the Divine and…

The mage's brow furrowed.

He was still not sure what they had seen, a figure hidden in shadows, a deep powerful voice.

 **"We have an intruder."**

 **"Kill him. Now!"**

Nicholai could not remember the face of the man that had said those words. All he knew that whoever this person was, they had likely murdered the Divine and destroyed the Conclave.

He had failed to stop the shadowy figure and everyone in the temple had died.

 _Gillian_ _ **had**_ _died._

That made it his responsibility.

"So a mage _did_ cause all this?" Kurtz said.

"Possibly," Trevelyan shrugged, "a mage or someone with mage allies."

Kurtz nodded.

"I can see your reasoning lad," he said, "You want to get the bastard that killed Gillian and the others."

"That is part of it."

Then why not hunt on our own," Kurtz said, "We could move faster without having to trip over these holy types. Some mage somewhere must know who targeted the Divine. We find them and make them give up their boss."

"And what about the breaches?" Nicholai asked.

"You see them. You seal them," Kurtz said, "No reason to sign up with this lot."

Kurtz shook his head.

"Case you haven't forgotten lad, these people did nothing while the Templars were slaughtering our people. They sat in their temples, praying with their thumbs up their arses, and let us kill each other."

Kurtz gave him a grim smile.

"Never had any real use for the holy types," he said.

Trevelyan considered what Kurtz was saying.

The sell-sword made many fine points. Cassandra and Leliana believed that this…Inquisition they were forming would have the strength to end the chaos, but what did that mean to a rebel mage?

If the chantry got its act together, if they picked a new Divine, how long would it be before the Inquisition lost the support of the faithful? How long would it be until the 'Herald of Andraste' found himself running from a mob with pitchforks and torches?

According to Leliana, the chantry had already denounced them, declaring him a false prophet, and the Inquisition heretics.

Maybe Varric was right, he had advised Trevelyan to make an escape plan.

Before too long, he might find it necessary to run.

"How about it lad," Kurtz asked.

"The people we have left. We could move quicker than these holy folk."

Trevelyan nodded.

"Yes we could," he admitted.

Kurtz grinned, but the look on Trevelyan's face killed any pleasure he felt.

"We could," he repeated, "But I won't."

"Why?" Kurtz asked.

Trevelyan sighed.

"For starters, I gave my word, I promised Cassandra and Leliana that I would stand with them, and besides."

Trevelyan smiled slightly.

"This…inquisition, it is what I have been working towards since I fled Ostwick."

The sell-sword gave him a quizzical look.

"How do you figure?"

"From the very beginning Kurtz, I hoped to build a large enough army to force the Templars off the field and to the negotiating table. I wouldn't have risked Tantervale had I not believed that. Our defeat their ended that dream, but here, surrounded by these 'holy types' as you call them, with the breach as a common enemy, a common goal…"

Trevelyan's eyes sparkled.

"If I left now, I would be branded a common criminal. The chantry would eventually hunt me down and kill me, but by aiding the Inquisition, fighting at their side…"

Kurtz snorted.

"You want these holy shits to think you are their savior?"

"Yes."

"They support you; build a large enough army around you. Maybe **that** will end the war? Force the Templars and mages to work together, scare them into reaching an accord?"

"It is better than waiting for one side to wipe the other out," Trevelyan said dryly.

The sell-sword nodded.

"Could work, provided they don't try to kill you or make you tranquil."

Nicholai winced.

"I'm kinda hoping to avoid that as well," he quipped

He leaned back in his chair, pinning his old ally with a stern look, stern but hopeful.

"I could use your help, you and any of our old comrades, as many as we can get."

"You don't think the faithful will be insulted fighting beside a hypocrite like me?"

Trevelyan chuckled.

"Until they seen you fight, probably."

Kurtz chuckled, and took a drink of brandy.

He smiled at his old friend.

"Put me down as a hireling with the high ups and you got yourself a deal. I'll even talk with the others; see how many want to sign up."

Trevelyan smiled.

"Good."

"But," Kurtz said raising his hand.

Trevelyan frowned.

"But?"

"Don't expect me to start scraping and bowing and calling you Your Holiness or some such shit. I'm not your toady or your disciple. I'm here to fight, not to blow sunshine up your ass."

Trevelyan's grin returned.

"I wouldn't have it any other way," he said, "You may be a gnarled tough old bastard, but you're my kind of gnarled tough old bastard."

Kurtz smiled slightly.

"As long as the pay holds out," he said raising his drink.

"To the Inquisition," he said.

Trevelyan raised his own glass.

"To the Inquisition."

A knock on the door interrupted their toast. Trevelyan turned.

"Yes?" he called out.

"Herald, it is Leliana."

Kurtz gave him an arched look.

Its meaning was quite clear.

What was the Hero of Ferelden's love coming to cabin this time of night?

Nicholai glared at him, but said nothing.

"Yes?"

"We need you to come to the chantry, one of my agents have caught a spy, possibly an assassin."

That got Nicholai's attention.

"Have you called for Cullen or Cassandra?"

"I will but only after you have spoken with this one yourself."

Trevelyan's brow furrowed.

"Why me?"

"Because she says she knows you. She says her name is Natalya Song."

Nicholai frowned.

Nat, he thought.

Nat was here?

He rose from his chair, Kurtz, who knew more than a bit about the Trevelyan household, followed.

The sell-sword knew Song, knew what she did for Nicholai's father.

If she was here…?

Trevelyan pursed his lips.

 _What is going on Nat_ , he thought.

 _What in blazes are you doing here?_


	16. Duet part 1

**Chapter 16: Duet (part 1)**

"So, little sister is here?"

Trevelyan and Kurtz walked down the Haven streets, heading for the steps of the chantry. Citizens, soldiers, and pilgrims saluted in the mage's wake.

He barely noticed them, his thoughts focused on finding Natalya...

...That...and coming to terms of why she was likely here.

"It seems that way," he said answering the sell-sword.

Kurtz made a face.

"I suppose she was sent here to deal with someone, that is what your Da usually used her for."

"I suppose so," the mage agreed.

"Any idea who?"

Trevelyan gave the man as sideways look. Kurtz was not stupid. He likely already had guessed why Nat was here, just as Nicholai had.

If the man was playing coy he was likely doing so for one reason. Despite his words to the contrary, Kurtz did like him, or at least he thought the old bastard did.

He was likely trying to protect Nicholai's feelings, which were unnecessary.

He knew what kind of person his sister was, she had a very specialized skill set.

He could think of only one target in Haven that his father might be interested in seeing...removed.

Leliana stood at the chantry steps, waiting for them.

"Herald," she said in greetings.

"Sister," Trevelyan replied.

She glanced at Kurtz, who smiled at her.

"Kurtz, this is Sister Leliana, Left Hand of the Divine," the mage said, "Sister, this is Kurtz of..."

Trevelyan's brow furrowed.

He looked at the old sell-sword.

"You know," he said dryly, "I don't think I ever heard where you come from."

The older man chuckled.

"No where in particular," he said with an equally dry expression, "Son of no one you likely heard of."

"Pleased to meet you, Serah" the sister said with a slight nod.

She gestured to Nicholai.

"Come with me, the prisoner is down here."

The mage nodded, then turned to Kurtz.

"Go back to our old friends," he said, "See how many want to sign up."

"Sure," the sell-sword said, "Good luck with little sis."

Trevelyan nodded.

"Thanks," he said.

Kurtz turned and ambled back down the snowy street.

Trevelyan sighed.

Hopefully the old bastard would be able to convince at least some of his old allies to sign up with the Inquisition.

He liked to think that he had a little more to offer than a magical mark on his hand.

Bringing in a few mages to help could not hurt.

He followed after the sister.

He did not need to ask where the cells beneath the chantry were.

He had seen them.

It was not a place he had thought to see again so quickly.

Hopefully he would not be here long.

IOI

"I know a spy when I see one, Herald."

Nicholai Trevelyan smiled. His green eyes twinkled with amusement.

They made their way down the dark chantry steps, down into the lower levels.

"Natalya Song is definitely that," he agreed, "but she is something more as well."

The Nightingale crossed her arms. Her blue eyes were flinty under her dark hood. Clearly she needed more than veiled assurances from him, not that that was surprising.

"My people will find out who she truly is."

"Unnecessary," he replied.

He was not sure that he wanted Nat to sample the methods that the Left Hand of the Divine would use to extract such information.

"I disagree," the woman said, "We have no true idea who this girl is…"

Nicholai chuckled; it was enough to stop the Sister in her tracks.

He did not like discussing his family's secrets, but considering everything that had happened, he had little choice.

He met the woman's eyes evenly. Hoping she would understand.

This was not a matter discussed in polite conversation, but what else could he do.

Nat was more than just a spy.

She was family.

"I **already** know who she is," he said, " **She** is my sister."

Sister Leliana paused, but not before she gave Nicholai a disapproving frown. It did not bother him though; he was quite used to such looks.

 _His father had been looking at him like that for years._

"We have no record of you having a sister, Lord Trevelyan," she said.

"That is not surprising," he shrugged, "Natalya and I share the same father, but we have different mothers. Mine was my father's wife; hers was one of my father's agents in Orlais."

He gave her his best dismissive smile.

"I think you can understand why there is no record of her.

The Left Hand of the Divine sniffed.

"So she is a bastard then?"

Nicholai nodded, even though he had to suppress the urge to wince.

He did not… _approve_ of that word.

"We do not get to pick our parents, Sister," he reminded her.

The woman shrugged.

"True," she admitted, "Not everyone gets to know who their father is. Maker knows I never did."

Trevelyan said nothing, he had not realized that Sister Leliana had been...born on the wrong side of the blanket.

Perhaps the woman had more in common with his sister than he realized.

Bastards were not welcomed in most families, in fact to some of the nobles he had met, the only word that was spoken of with more disdain than bastard was mage.

It was part of the reason that he had had such a good rapport with his little sister.

They were both outcasts.

Natalya was one of the few people in his family who had decided not to keep a respectful distance from him when he first entered the circle. Magic had a way of turning the most tightknit family against each other, his had been no different.

His brother had distanced himself from him. Mother had distanced herself from him. Father had turned cold, still in shock that his golden boy had magic…

Song…she…she had not cared. She still called him friend, still loved him like a brother. When he learned of her true parentage he had embraced her as his sister. How could he not?

They were both children of Bann Pieter Trevelyan.

 _He understood that._

 _ **She**_ _…understood that._

He had always appreciated her for that. If anyone understood what it was like to be a part of a family but pushed out of it by circumstances of birth. It was Nat.

 _Now…he had to help her._

Nicholai entered a small interrogation room. Leliana followed in his wake. He found a chair and leaned back. The room was small. It was a bit confining for his tastes, but he had learned to get used to such quarters in the last year. Luxury was in short supply, after a year on the run he was used to its absence.

It had been almost three weeks since Cassandra had first declared the Inquisition reborn. The intense, yet beautiful, Seeker should have been pleased by the response. Pilgrims and volunteers continued to flood into the village of Haven, all eager to serve the cause, to aid the Herald of Andraste.

Nicholai glanced down at his left hand, at the glowing mark that had been there since the temple of Sacred Ashes had exploded.

He frowned.

 _If there was any way to remove that mark, he would have._

 _It had brought him nothing but trouble._

Most thought that the mark was a sign of hope, of divinity, but there were some who saw it has heresy. They saw his very existence as blasphemy. Sister Leliana had been quite busy in the last few weeks, identifying the various spies and assassins that had snuck in among the faithful. People who either thought to do Inquisition harm, or assassinate Nicholai. The sweeps of the village were needed. Many of the faithful were not ready to accept a mage as the Herald of the Maker's prophet. Maker knew, Nicholai certainly wasn't. Almost Overnight, he had become a symbol to the Inquisition, a means to an end. After all, he was the only one who could seal the breach, or so Solas believed. It was for this reason, that the Nightingale's sweeps of Haven were not only accepted, but necessary. The villagers understood, as did the soldiers, and so, the sweeps continued.

The latest had picked up his sister. She had apparently been here for weeks, since before the chantry explosion.

 _ **Now**_ _…they needed to know why._

According to Sister Leliana, Natalya had had all the proper papers for an envoy sent to attend Conclave, but she had also been carrying several subtle poisons, and the means to disperse them quietly. These…concoctions were hardly the tools of an innocent envoy, but common enough among the highest levels of assassins.

Which of course led to another good question: Who…was the target?

As he had told Kurtz, he had his suspicions, though he hoped that he was wrong.

Song was skilled enough to use those poisons, that much he knew, and such weapons were almost untraceable when used. So, it was no surprise that the Nightingale thought it wise to… _detain_ Nat, at least until they discovered what was going on.

The mage steepled his hands before his face, losing himself in thought.

His father did not send his Song out lightly. Bann Pieter had plenty of sycophants willing to do his will on a diplomatic mission. Song's presence here…suggested something else…

He sighed heavily.

 _Now he just had to decide what to do with her._

He tapped idly on the surface of the table. Sister Leliana stood before him, awaiting his answer. Technically, the Sister **could** have proceeded with Nat's interrogation without his consent; after all, he wasn't in charge here, but…given what Natalya had told her so far, she had decided to leave that choice up to him.

The mage shook his head.

He had no choice really.

He glanced up at Sister Leliana.

"Bring her to me," he said, "I wish to speak with her myself."

She gave him a slightly surprised look.

"Are you certain?"

"Yes," he replied, "She is my sister; she would not lie to me."

Sister Leliana frowned.

"How can you be so certain?"

"Because I know her, sister," he answered.

Nicholai gave her a wan smile.

"And she…" he continued, "She **knows** me."

IOI

Nicholai Trevelyan still remembered the first time he had seen Natalya Song. It had been a better time, a more innocent time.

It was a time, when anything had seemed possible.

He had still been a child then. Back then it seemed that the entire world would one day be his to command. He had been the golden boy back then, his father's pride and joy, his firstborn son and heir.

Back then, Nicholai had basked in his father's love and pride. How could he not…?

He was his father's beloved son.

From the time that he was five, his father had pushed him towards his destiny. Nicholai had first held a training blade at the age of five. By the time he was eight he was winning junior sword competitions. Father, who had spent his youth as a warrior had been ecstatic.

"See the future of my house," he had declared with pride.

"Let no man doubt the strength of the Trevelyans!"

Nicholai had never doubted those boasts. Father had never lied to him. He had been willing to do whatever it took to be the Trevelyan that his father wanted him to be. When he wasn't training he was studying. All the games he played as a child were tailored to aid his education at becoming Bann. Of course, this was all before Stefan was born.

Then one day, while he had been playing knights and dragons in the gardens. He had seen Lady Melcendra, his father's minstrel, speaking with the Bann in soft quiet tones.

Even today, he remembered the look on Father's face, a mix of fear, anger, and curiosity. The blonde haired minstrel had carried a small bundle in her arms, wrapped in a soft pink blanket.

She handed the blanket to Father, who…at first looked ready to toss it down on the ground, to dash it against the cobbles and walk away.

Then…the bundle cooed, and a tiny, pudgy, pale hand reached out to him.

In that moment, Father had been undone, and so had Nicholai.

He had seen father cry that day, something he had never seen before. Tears of joy, doubt, and fear, in that moment House Trevelyan had been changed forever, and the secret had first taken root.

That was the day that Natalya came into their house.

Seeing his father's reaction had unsettled the boy. He…he had never seen his father react like that.

He realized in that moment that this was something special, something precious.

What was in that bundle was important.

For father's sake, the boy knew that he needed to protect it.

It was choice he never forgot, and never rejected….

And…he never would.

IOI

Years passed.

Stefan was born a few months after Natalya's arrival. Lady Melcendra moved in to care for her child and handle its education. Mother had never approved of that arrangement, but Father had put his foot down.

The baby would be no trouble.

She would grow up knowing her place.

Nicholai settled into his role as the elder brother. As they grew older Stefan and Nat seemed to enjoy tormenting him. They were a distraction, always taking things from his room, always interrupting his studies.

They had been rascals, annoying little imps sent by the Maker to torment him.

He chuckled at those thoughts now.

He had come to miss those days in the past few years.

When he was eleven, he discovered he could light candles with just snapping his fingers. He did not tell anyone, not for a few weeks. For a short time, it had been his little secret…

Then one day, a servant saw him do it. She shrieked and fled…

After that, everything changed.

The Templars arrived that evening.

Father had been furious. He had yelled at both the Templars and at Nicholai.

 _It is_ _ **not**_ _possible!_

 _It is all a_ _ **lie!**_

 _You were just playing a prank, boy! It was all some trick!_

 _ **Confess to these men, Nicholai!**_

 _ **Confess!**_

Alas, he could not.

 _It had_ _ **not**_ _been a trick._

 _It had been_ _ **real**_ _._

He had been taken to the Circle that very night, and his father had never forgiven him for it.

Bann Pieter had felt betrayed.

His golden stallion, the future of House Trevelyan...was a mage.

At the time, it had broken Nicholai's heart. All he could hear were his father's angry words, telling him that he had squandered all his potential. That he had thrown away his future, the future of their family!

He would not see them again for almost three years.

His mentor, Senior Enchanter Lydia gave him the perspective he needed to put his troubled feelings to rest. He could no more help being born a mage then he could help being born a member of House Trevelyan. It was simply who he was.

It was _what_ he was.

Under Lydia's guidance, he came to discover his power. He learned how to form magical shields, to summon fire and lightning with his fingers and the merest whisper, but that was not all.

The lessons his father had taught him had not gone waste. He quickly learned how to navigate the world of Circle politics. Being the son of a wealthy Bann did have some advantages. The best teachers competed to get his attention, and by extension, the Bann's.

Eventually, he was able to leave the Circle for short visits with his family. Something that was a bit of a rarity in other circles he had heard.

It was during one of those visits that word had reached the family of the death of Lady Melcendra, Natalya's mother.

It was that day that he finally learned the truth about her parentage, that she and he were truly siblings.

He had found Father holding her, listening to her weep into his broad shoulders, he probably should have stayed there, comforting the girl, but business, as always, called him away.

Nicholai had agreed to stay with her, he held his little sister until she fell asleep, finally carrying her to her room and putting her to bed.

After that, she had been more than a simple play friend.

That act of kindness had formed a bond, a bond that had held these many years.

When Natalya attended her first ball, he escorted her. When she needed to talk, she came to the circle to talk to him. He listened to the details of some of her… _missions_ for the family. She had been so excited by her success, but he had not been pleased. He hated to admit it, but it made him angry. Father had taken the sweet little girl he had grown up with, and turned her into his own personal killer.

It wasn't right.

None of it was right.

He confronted his father on it once, their first real argument. It had ended with Nicholai returning to the Circle a day early. After that, Natalya Song did not come back to visit, on his father's orders probably.

He had been furious, part of him tried several times to send a letter to Mother, but…between his work in the Circle, not to mention the tales of abuse coming out of the Gallows in Kirkwall he had never gotten a chance.

It was then that history had caught up with them. It was then…that **it** happened.

Some crazed mage blew up the chantry in Kirkwall, and then the Templars tried to execute the First Enchanters of Thedas in the White Spire.

The mages fled.

The Templars broke away from the chantry.

Both sides declared war, and…well…now they were all here.

Lost in a world gone mad!

IOI

Nicholai shook his head; he ran his hand through his straggly beard. He hated the feel of it, but had not had the time to shave the thing off.

History was on the march, and those that did not keep up would be left behind.

He glanced again at the glowing mark on his hand, wondering what in Andraste's name he was going to do?

Seal the breach.

Find those responsible…then end them.

He chuckled.

Seeker Cassandra made it all sound so easy.

He doubted that it would be that simple.

The sounds of voices in the hall drew him back from his musings. He sat up straight, awaiting the arrival of his…guest.

He bid them enter as soon as he heard the first knock.

The door opened.

Natalya Song stepped inside.

Nicholai pursed his lips.

His sister did not look well.

Her leathers were dirty, her cheeks smudged with dirt from the cells beneath the chantry, her dark blonde hair was frizzy from lack of attention.

She met his gaze, those cat-like eyes of hers dissecting him.

He smiled at her.

She smiled back, and held up her bound hands.

Nicholai frowned.

"Take those off," he ordered, "then leave us."

The guards, both former Templars looked at him like he had gone mad.

Perhaps he had.

"I will take full responsibility," he promised, "Sister Leliana will understand."

The guards glanced at each other one last time, but eventually they did comply.

When they left, they closed the door behind them.

Brother and sister faced each other.

Neither had anything to say.

Nicholai almost swore under his breath.

 _What in Andraste's name was he doing?_

 _This was just Song!_

She had never lied to him.

"Hello Nicholai," she purred.

"Song," he replied.

She arched an eyebrow.

"You used to call me Nat."

"That I did," he shrugged, "Perhaps I will again."

He rose from his chair and walked up to her. She stood defiantly, not willing to back down, not willing to give an inch.

He snorted.

"You look terrible," he murmured.

She sneered.

"You don't look so good yourself."

He smirked.

 _Same old Song._

They glared at each other for about thirty seconds before they could not take it anymore.

They both laughed.

He pulled her into his arms, she did not try to resist.

They just stood there for a moment…

...Enjoying the simple feel of the familiar.

The feel…of family.

"I've missed you little sister," he said softly.

Natalya shivered.

He did not know why.

Finally, she answered him.

"And I you…my…my brother."

Nicholai smirked. He had missed hearing those words.

 _Same old Song._


	17. Duet (part 2)

**Chapter 17: Duet (part 2)**

"I missed you little sister."

A shiver ran down Natalya's spine. Nicholai's words surprised her; they spoke of the bond the two of them had once shared, the pleasures of a simple time…

 _A time long passed._

Yet even as he held her, she still felt that something was amiss, the stiffness of his arms and neck, almost as if he was readying himself to spring back should the need arise.

Wise, she thought to herself, considering the reason she had come to haven in the first place.

Still, it was good to see him, even if he did look little like the big brother she remembered.

Nicholai did not look well. He had always been slender compared to the bear that was his father. He was still strong, that was clear from his embrace, but it was clear that the months of rebellion had taken its toll. His face was tanned, his blonde hair longer, his scraggly beard streaked with gray. On another man it might have looked distinguished, but it seemed out of place on her brother's normally youthful appearance.

There had always been a…boyishness about Nicholai Trevelyan, a roguish charm that more than a few of the pampered noble ladies in Ostwick had been drawn to. He had been born with charm in abundance, and had never failed to make the young girls of Ostwick swoon. Bann Pieter had always worn his power on his sleeve, his strength and fierceness undeniable. His eldest son had always been more subtle, and the girls of Ostwick had been enamored by that. Even though he had been born a mage, her brother had never had any trouble finding willing young ladies seeking his attention, or desiring to warm his bed. Had his magic never manifested, he would have never had had any trouble finding a wife. He might have even snared one of the Teyrn's daughters, alas, that was simply not meant to be.

Thinking about the past made her remember exactly why she had come here. What their Father had wanted her to do.

She was glad that she had arrived too late…

…For both Nicholai's sake, and hers.

She almost whimpered as she responded to his words.

"I missed you…my…my brother."

She laid her head against his chest, listening to the sound of his heart beating, welcoming the feel of his arms around her in brotherly love.

Bann Pieter had never been a warm man. She could count on one hand the times he had actually tried to comfort her. Stefan followed his father's example, preferring not to show any sign of simple affection. Lady Tatiana…

…Well, there was nothing to say about Lady Tatiana…

She **despised** Natalya Song.

Nicholai had **always** been different, he had always been kind. He…

 _Kill him._

The thought went through her mind like an iron spike.

 _Kill him now; he is vulnerable, finish what you started._

Her eyes narrowed.

 _Kill him._ _ **NOW!**_

She let out a shuddering breath.

It would be easy.

How many times had she killed a man embracing her, either in friendship or desire? The Inquisition might have taken her weapons, but she was never without a means of offense.

Most men in Thedas did not think that a woman could break their neck with her bare hands, but it was really not that hard.

In fact, it was simplicity itself.

It would be easy it would be _**so**_ easy! All she needed to do was brace herself, and with one quick strike her mission would be completed.

Nicholai would be dead…

…And…so would she.

 _No, that was not why she was here, not now._

She had a new plan.

She needed to remain true to it.

IOI

Natalya had not tried to hide in the weeks since the Conclave explosion, hiding would have been pointless. She recognized that. It was only a matter of time until the Inquisition's agents discovered her. She had seen more than a few men and women disappear into the chantry, quietly escorted by soldiers wearing the eye and sword of the newly formed cause.

Some of them were seen leaving later, others simply vanished; it was not hard to imagine what had happened to them. Killed while trying to escape no doubt, or at least, that what any reports sent to their masters would likely say.

She shook her head.

She felt little pity for amateurs, this game was deadly.

You either won, or you died.

It was as simple as that.

Natalya settled into her new life in Haven. Flissa, the girl that had taken over the large building near the village gates had been looking for help. She intended to start her own tavern.

Song had been more than happy to help.

She swept the floor and served drinks. Flissa had little coin to pay her, but that was alright. Three meals a day and a warm place to sleep was payment enough, especially in this place. The girl had been surprised that a woman like Natalya was willing to do such manual labor.

Song had simply laughed at that.

She had been raised a servant, she informed Flissa, she had no problem doing the work of one. That answer seemed enough to please her new employer. It wasn't even a lie.

Song had no issues doing servants work, especially when the rewards were so great. At night as the soldiers and townsfolk gathered in the tiny tavern she got to listen to them, learn their fears and desires. She got to hear their intentions and secrets.

That simple reward had been worth its weight in gold.

She had needed to find out what to do next. Did she continue on with her mission, or fall back to civilization and wait for a better opportunity later. The people of Haven would provide her with that answer. She needed to hear more about the leadership. She needed to hear more about Nicholai…

She needed to know when he would be at his most vulnerable.

As she worked, and listened a new plan slowly began to take form in her mind. The villagers, not to mention the pilgrims and volunteers that had arrived later gave her a better picture of what was going on outside the village, and what she could expect if she made another attempt on her brother.

What she heard…it…it surprised her.

 _He is a hero that Trevelyan is._

 _Blessed by our prophet that is for sure._

 _Magic is to serve, yeah, that is what it says in the chant. Why wouldn't Andraste send a mage back to save us? He serves her. He serves us._

 _I was from Kirkwall; originally, I saw what Knight Commander Meredith caused. When someone does that how can they still claim the Maker's grace? If a mage is trying to save us, more power to him, I say._

 _My lady died at the Conclave. If this mage is going to try and save us, my sword is his._

 _I had a sister who was a mage; the Templars made her tranquil five years ago. That wasn't right._

 _Not right what the chantry let the Templars do, not right at all._

 _That Trevelyan stopped the breach from growing._

 _He will close it, in Andraste's name, you mark my words._

 _He is a hero that Trevelyan is._

 _He is_ _ **our**_ _hero._

Natalya Song had been left speechless.

The people, the plain simple people of Haven, looked at Nicholai as a _savior_. The pilgrims that flocked to the Inquisition, they had come because they believed that Nicholai could seal the breach, or at least to watch him try. No one seemed to care that he was a mage, all they knew is what he had done in the temple ruins, and that he might just have the power to save them all.

The people, they…they did not just believe in her brother, they were willing to follow in his footsteps.

They believed in him, they believed that he walked in the light of Andraste.

They wanted to serve him.

They almost _worshipped_ him.

It was amazing, almost unbelievable.

Looking into those people's eyes, hearing their hopes and fears, it crystalized in her mind what she needed to do.

What needed to be done.

She smiled slightly.

The situation _had_ changed.

She needed to send word to Bann Pieter. She needed to let her Father know…

"Lady Song?"

She turned, several Inquisition soldiers stood before her.

"Can I get you gentlemen something?" she said with a curtsey.

The guards' eyes remained cold, it was clear that they had not stopped by for a drink, still she showed no fear.

She suspected what was in store for her.

"Lady Nightingale would like to have a word with you," the soldier said, "Please come with us."

Natalya's smile widened.

This had been part of her new plan to.

She had wanted to be caught, needed to be caught.

It would help sell her story.

It was not enough to simply walk about and bump into Nicholai on the streets of Haven. She had needed something more.

She had needed to make an entrance.

Lady Nightingale had _provided_ that.

She had gone without fear or complaint into the custody of the Inquisition. She hoped that their interrogation would not be too hard. She knew a little about Ferelden interrogation techniques: starvation, sleep deprivation, tossing someone naked in cold cell for a few days, such means were common enough practices in the world of the dog lords.

She had no desire to experience them for long.

She had a weapon in her arsenal that they would not expect her to use.

She had the truth, and she would use it, but only when they agreed to let her speak to her brother.

Once that was done, the die would be cast.

She would have a private audience with her brother.

Then she would be able to truly begin.

All she had to do was show a bit of fear.

Nicholai would do the rest.

IOI

"You're trembling?"

Natalya tried not to smile.

"Yes, brother," she added a bit of a quaver into her voice, "I'm…I'm frightened."

He pulled back, forcing her to look him in the eyes.

"Did they hurt you?"

"Your soldiers did not," she replied, "It…it is not the Inquisition I fear, my brother. It…it is you."

That put him off his game.

"Me? You have never been afraid of me! You never feared magic before."

"It is not your magic, it…it…"

Natalya stumbled into him.

"Nat?"

She shook her head.

"Oh Maker…I…I feel faint."

He held her, guided her to the table. She let him set her down. He poured her some water from a pitcher on the table. She held in firmly in both hands. She refused to meet his gaze, yet at the same time drank in his concern.

This…this was a dance she knew well. She had often played the damsel in distress.

Her brother was no more immune to this act than any other man she had encountered.

She already had his trust, now she just needed to cement it, and the easiest way to do that was truth.

She took gulps of the water.

"Better?" he asked her.

She nodded.

"Yes, thank you, brother."

She smiled slightly.

"Maker bless you."

With a hint of a smile he returned to his chair.

It was not hard to play the next part; in truth she had never been happy about this job. The reward would have been great, but she feared that the stain of Nicholai's death would have haunted her forever.

What she had in mind now, was much better. It was cleaner, and…

…It would get her exactly what she wanted.

"Now," Nicholai said calmly, "Let's talk about why you are suddenly afraid of me, shall we?"

She drank nervously from her cup.

"Not of you brother, of what you might do when you hear my confession. I…I have no desire to lose your regard. I…I respect you too much for that. I've never lied to you. I don't want to start now."

The mage gave her and arched look. He looked down at the desk; he recognized the papers she had brought with her, identifying her as an emissary of their house.

"I take it you weren't sent here to watch the proceedings of the Conclave?"

"No brother," she said, "I came here under the orders of the Revered Mothers of Ostwick, they…they approached our lord Father for a favor, a favor that he sent me to carry out."

The mage crossed his arms, for a moment she could see the similarities between Nicholai and their father. They both had the ability to turn perfectly cold when confronted with bad news.

"Knowing what you do for our father," he said coldly, "I suppose their request was beyond simply looking around Haven."

Again she nodded.

Song had intentionally added the mothers involvement in this. She had no desire to completely alienate her brother to the rest of the family, he might need House Trevelyan later.

They might need it.

The distant mothers made a much better scapegoat. Let them play the villains, the patsies. It would give her the time she needed to salvage what she could for their family.

Nicholai leaned forward.

"Speak plainly sister. What was this favor, the mothers asked of dear old Da?"

She fidgeted in her chair.

"They asked for your life, brother," she said quickly, "I…I was supposed to see to matter, but…but I can't…I couldn't…"

She almost fell out of her chair. Nicholai went to help her, but paused when he saw she had not fallen…

She was kneeling. Her face pressed against the hard stone floor.

The sight shocked him, as it was supposed to.

Natalya continued her dance.

"Forgive me, brother," she whimpered, "Forgive me, Herald of Andraste! I…I am a faithless ungrateful wretch, begging your mercy, and your blessing!"

Nicholai said nothing; he stood above her, watching.

"Send me not from your side, brother. Please, I beg you; give me the opportunity to prove myself worthy of calling myself your sister."

She heard him sigh.

She dared to glance up at him, his face was unreadable.

"I am your humble servant," she whimpered.

Finally, he rolled his eyes.

"Get up Song; I'm not Andraste for Maker's sake."

She almost frowned.

This was not the reaction she had expected.

He was supposed to feel bad seeing her in such a state.

"But brother, I…"

"I said get up," he repeated, harsher this time.

She obeyed, wiping idly at the dirt on her already dirty leathers.

He slumped down in the chair, pouring himself some water.

She waited for him to speak, to make the next move.

He had missed a step of their dance. She expected him to forgive her without thought. His reaction to her display surprised her.

"What did Father offer you?" he said before taking another drink, "what is the going rate for my life these days?"

She winced at the harshness of his words.

"He…he said he would recognize me," she answered, "He promised to make me a full Trevelyan."

The mage snorted.

"I doubt mother would have liked that."

Natalya bowed her head.

No, Lady Tatiana would not have liked that at all.

"I was to leave Ostwick, and never return," She added, "I…I've found a man you see. A good man, a _noble_ man, but he…his family they would never accept him wedding a lowborn girl, much less a…a…bas…"

She winced.

She knew Nicholai hated the word _bastard_.

She was not too fond of it herself.

Nicholai pursed his lips; he looked down into his water goblet. His expression was unreadable.

Natalya frowned.

She wondered if she had overplayed her hand.

Her brother was...colder than she remembered. She had thought that he would accept her at face value. That he would feel bad seeing her on her knees, that he would consider it his fault, making what she had planned next far easier.

Yet, he remained distant, he didn't seem angry, but it was clear that he was not going to let her off with a wave of a hand.

Part of her feared that she had overestimated her abilities.

Nicholai knew her, he likely knew, or at least suspected that some of this was all an act.

If Nicholai chose to send her away, she would have to return home in disgrace. Father would not be pleased. He might even hire the crows or another assassin.

That…in Natalya's eyes would be a mistake.

What was happening here, it had gone beyond Nicholai shaming his house. His name was no doubt spreading; the tale of what had happened in Haven would spread.

If Nicholai died now, if the 'Herald of Andraste' died now, his killers would be reviled for centuries if not longer. If the breach and the other fade rifts were never fully closed history would be looking for someone to blame.

It was why she had changed her mind about completing this mission. If she succeeded, if Nicholai had died, and she managed to escape, she doubted that she would live very long with that victory. The Inquisition **would** hunt her. The faithful of Thedas would likely hunt her.

She would seek shelter with Father, but he would cast her aside, a scapegoat. Oliver's family would not shelter her that was for certain.

History would judge Natalya Song a monster. She would go down in history as a pariah, a jealous murderous traitor, the fool who had killed the one man who might just have had the power to save them all.

The name Song would be as hated as the name Maferath.

It was not how she wanted to be remembered.

She **refused** to be remembered that way.

She gave her brother a weak smile.

"Brother please, I…I won't let anyone hurt you. I…I can **help** you. I'll send word to Father; convince him to forget the Mothers. I can convince him to aid us."

Again Nicholai arched his eyebrow.

"Us?" he inquired.

"Yes, brother, _us_ ," she said, "I have contacts, here, Orlais, and the Free Marches. I'll turn them over to you, to the Inquisition. My Oliver…he…he has friends in the court of Nevarra, I can convince him to get them to see things **your** way, the Inquisition's way."

Nicholai tilted his head, thinking about what she was offering.

"You would betray Father?"

She swallowed hard.

"I'm _saving_ Father," she said, "And our family, once the breach is sealed, the Inquisition will be in a position to ask the chantry for anything. Whoever becomes the new Divine will need the Inquisition's support, and the support of the Herald of Andraste."

She smiled more.

"I can help you, brother, and by helping you, I can help our family, and myself."

she gave him a weak smile.

"Had you become Bann, you know that I would have served you as loyally as I have Father."

"Yet you would betray him now?"

"To save him, to save us all."

Nicholai shook his head.

She said nothing not wishing to anger her brother.

"I suppose you are going to do this all out of your love for me and the kindness in your heart?"

She looked down at the stone floor and sighed.

"Chaos presents many opportunities brother," she murmured.

"Why should a person not profit from doing the right thing? Why must doing right always be a sacrifice?"

The mage smirked at her.

"I knew it," he chuckled, "You're still thinking of feathering your own nest?"

She could have denied it, she could have lied, but once again, here, just the two of them...

...she thought that the truth would serve her best.

"Of course," she admitted, "Father's recognition would have been enough to get me the marriage I desired, but…to be known as Natalya…sister of Nicholai, Disciple of the Herald of Andraste."

Her green eyes flashed with excitement, brighter than the torches around them.

" **That** brother would be worth its weight in gold. It would be more than simple recognition, it would be **better**."

Nicholai chuckled.

"So you're my disciple now?"

"I'm your sister," she said, "What happens next is up to you."

She once again managed a weak smile.

"Plus, this way, neither you or I have to die. I would call that a good outcome, wouldn't you?"

The mage nodded, he leaned back in his chair, his hand on his chin.

She waited patiently for his decision.

It was a good plan, she thought.

A sound plan.

She would help Nicholai, and through his aid, blaze a trail all her own. The mothers in Ostwick would rant, but Father, being the practical man that he was would see the opportunity that was presenting itself here.

This was bigger than the chantry.

It was a chance to put House Trevelyan into the history books, to build something that would stand for the next thousand years.

Such opportunities did not come along every day.

She knew that, and hopefully...father would too.

And best of all, none of their house had to die.

Her brother said nothing, he was considering what she had said, she knew that, but...

He gave her a sad look.

"We may fail," he reminded her.

"We may not," she answered.

"If we lose, you would die here with us?"

Natalya sighed.

"We all die eventually, brother. I would much rather die a martyr to a good cause, trying to help people, then go down in history as a reviled traitor. If I finished my mission now, my name would be worthless. I would be the villain that mothers warned their children about."

"That may yet come to pass, Song," he reminded her.

Again she said nothing.

Nicholai continued.

"They may call us all mad one day. That we were fools."

"Andraste and her followers likely thought the same thing," she shrugged.

She dropped to one knee.

"I remain loyal to House Trevelyan, and you are the best chance to save our house, and make it stronger than ever before."

She smiled up at him, proudly this time.

"I swear fealty to you. I stand with you brother, to whatever end."

Her smile widened.

"The two of us against the world."

He gave her a sad smile.

"The two of us against the world," he chuckled remembering their old promise, something that had been said by two children in a far more innocent time,"not the best of odds Song."

"I'm willing to risk it."

He snorted, and looked down at the table.

"I'll need to tell the rest of the war council. They're in charge here, not me."

"Whatever you think is best."

He rose and helped her to her feet.

She gave him one last sad smile.

"We can do this."

He sighed heavily.

"Perhaps we can."

He knocked loudly on the door.

The two former Templars opened and stood at attention.

"Inform Sister Leliana that my sister will be staying with us. She has resources and information she wishes to turn over."

"Yes, Herald," they said in unison.

He gave his sister a proud look.

"Your belongings will be returned to you. Lady Nightingale will send for you when she is ready."

"Of course, brother," she said with a curtsey, "I will not let you down."

Nicholai nodded, and motioned for her to leave.

Accepting his dismissal she curtseyed again and made for the door, her escorts in tow.

"Brother?" she said over her shoulder.

"Yes, Sister," he answered.

" A bit of friendly advice."

"Yes?"

She smirked at him.

"Shave that horrible looking thing off your face, it looks like a dead animal, and take a bath, please…you stink."

Nicholai chuckled.

"Love you too, Song," he said as he closed to the door behind her.

She smiled as she was escorted out of the chantry, back out into Haven…

Back towards her destiny.

She smiled to herself.

Natalya, Disciple of the Herald, she liked the sound of that.

If they failed, she would die, no great loss, but if they won…

When they won, what world would possibly be denied her?

Oliver.

Nevarra.

Children.

She would be mother of not just a new noble line, but a **holy** line as well.

She smiled widely.

 _Wasn't that worth her services?_

 _Wasn't that worth the price of a Song?_

It most definitely **was.**

Now she needed to write to her father. She would convince him the value of this alliance.

History was on the move, and through her...and her brother, the Herald of Andraste.

...it now belonged to House Trevelyan.


	18. The First Stone

**Chapter 18: The First Stone**

Nicholai Trevelyan regarded the face staring back at him from the mirror. A face that was shaven, a bit weathered, but most of all…clean, likely for the first time in months. It was not an easy thing trying to be clean when one is fleeing for their life and being part of an outlaw revolution.

He smiled slightly, the roguish smile that had made so many young girls in Ostwick swoon. He adjusted the collar of the apprentice's armor he now wore. He once would have complained about having to wear the battle gear of a mere apprentice, but a year of war, mud and blood had taught him a lesson in humility the arm fit and it would keep him safe, that was what was important, function over fashion. It was both sturdy and warm, a step up from the hodgepodge armor he had managed to cobble together during the rebellion. He stood up straighter; regarding himself closer in the mirror trying to find the man he had been only a few short months ago. Being shaven and clean helped, but it could not hide the change that had taken place. He leaned in closer looking, trying to find some semblance of his old self even though he no longer felt the same, he was still Nicholai Trevelyan, but he was something different now, new person…same face.

 _At least I have something going for me_ , he thought with an amused look.

He touched his chin, looking at what the war had done to him.

He had missed this face. Yet, after everything that had happened, it was clear that it would never be the same. The green eyes that stared back at him looked tired, they had seen too much in the last year, he had done too much.

Nicholai frowned.

He could not change what had happened, what he had done. All he could do now was try to fix the many problems that had cropped up in the last ten years.

Seal the breach, find out who was responsible, and restore order; that was what Cassandra said they were going to do.

He nodded slightly.

That is what _**we**_ are going to do.

She made sound oh so simple, but the reality was anything but.

They were gaining recruits daily; word of what had happened at the Conclave had spread long and far by now. Still it was best that they not get overconfident. Trevelyan had thought the mages had had everything in hand during the battle of Tantervale.

The speed by which everything went crashing down there was proof enough that one should not be too confident.

Sister Leliana had said it best when she and Cassandra had asked him to join them.

 _We have no leader, no numbers, and now, no chantry support._

 _We are on our own_ , Cassandra had added _, perhaps forever_.

Yet in spite of it all, or perhaps to spite it all, he had said 'yes.' He had accepted his place at their side.

He could seal the rifts, that made him invaluable, but at the same time, that was not the reason he had joined them, not really.

Trevelyan still believed that there was a place in this world for mages, that they could weather this storm and come out the other side. The chantry had done nothing to stop the rebellion, and when the Divine had tried herself, someone had killed her for it. Now the task had fallen to her advisors to the Inquisition... He was determined to prove all those who said that mages were the enemy were wrong.

Helping the Inquisition was the first logical step.

Kurtz had returned with only a handful of his former allies, most of them just volunteers that had believed in what he was trying to do, and only a few of those were mages. None of them were sure about the whole 'Herald of Andraste' thing that Cassandra and Leliana had done nothing to stop. Their skepticism did not bother him.

He was not quite sure if he believed it himself.

All he knew was that he could seal rifts, and in doing so had won the respect of both the Seeker and the Nightingale. Now he had to turn that respect into action. He had to do his part to prove to everyone that the Inquisition could do what it had promised, it _could_ seal the breach, and it _could_ restore order.

To have the tools to do the former, they first needed to do the latter, they needed to restore order the lands around them, and with luck gather enough prestige to convince either the mage rebellion or the Templars for help. Solas believed that either group could be useful in accomplishing that. The mages could pour more magic into his mark; give him the strength to assault the breach itself. Templars could use their power to weaken the magic that was holding it open; weaken it enough that Trevelyan could do what needed to be done.

Nicholai knew what side he preferred, he had spent too much time in the last year fighting and killing Templars, but would not look a gift horse in the mouth if the Templars agreed to help.

He was willing to swallow his pride, if the Templars were willing to do the same.

Before they could ask for help from either group however, they needed to prove their quality to either group, not an easy task to be sure.

The war council of the Inquisition, Cassandra, Leliana, Commander Cullen, and Ambassador Josephine Montilyet seemed to be in agreement in how to start. Getting the chantry to at least acknowledge what they were trying to do was good was the first logical step. Such a goal was not easy to come by, Chancellor Roderick's report to Val Royeaux had already convinced the remaining clerics that Nicholai was a heretic, and that what the Inquisition was preaching to the people was blasphemy.

Such strong condemnation was not easy to oppose, but Leliana, as their spymaster, had managed to find for the Inquisition a small ray of hope.

Through Leliana's agents they had learned that a chantry mother named Giselle was asking about him, and was interested in setting up a meeting.

According to the Nightingale, Giselle was well respect among her sisters. She would have died at the Conclave had she not stayed behind to aid the refugees in the Hinterlands outside of Redcliffe.

Her isolation had saved her life, now it was up to the Inquisition to make sure she kept it, that with her help they might find a way to calm the terrified rhetoric spilling out of the Grand Cathedral in Val Royeaux.

To that end, the Inquisition had chosen to deploy their troops into the Hinterlands, where Mother Giselle had last been seen. According to their most recent reports, the Hinterlands was a mess, rogue Templars, mad apostates, and outlaw bands were preying on those people chased from their lands by the fighting, and now boxed in in a small cross roads to the south of Redcliffe village.

It was there that the Inquisition would start their work, save the mother, and do what they could to end the fighting. Had the mages and or Templars still been a concentrated fighting force, he would have viewed such an attempt as suicide.

The Inquisition was not an army, not yet, a collection of archers and riders, Leliana's people, a few mages and Templars who agreed to stay and help. Most of the volunteers had seen at least some battle during the Blight, but that had been ten years past, not the kind of people he would willingly throw against a battle hardened group of mages or Templar regulars.

Fortunately, the bulk of the mages had fallen back into Redcliffe village, planning their next move. The bulk of the Templars had left after the Conclave, taking refuge in Val Royeaux, or so rumor claimed.

According to Leliana the Templars had done nothing to aid the chantry since the Conclave; she believed them to be waiting, to see what move the mages might try next.

That wait-and-see attitude now aided the Inquisition, had the mages or Templars tried to take and hold the Hinterlands the fledging organization would have had no chance of stopping them. Even the Ferelden army had withdrawn from the area. The lords and their banner man taking up shelter closer to King Alistair and Queen Allegra, awaiting their orders.

Trevelyan knew how to make do with little during wartime. Already the Inquisition had double what he had at the beginning of the mage rebellion. Kurtz had offered his aid to Cullen, offering to whip the new recruits into fighting shape. The former Templar had been hesitant at first, but after seeing the performance of some of Kurtz' trainees the younger warrior had relented.

Natalya had turned over everything she had to the Inquisition her contacts, and whatever knowledge she had gleaned during her hunt. She also did her best to convince Nicholai to bring the rest of their family into all this. She believed that House Trevelyan had much to offer the Inquisition.

He had agreed to think about it. Did he believe that his family could be of service, yes, but at the same time he was still not quite ready to forget that his father had been willing to sacrifice him because the mothers in Ostwick had thought it was a good idea.

He did not blame Nat, she did only as she was told, and she had proved to be more than a simple assassin when she had come clean about her mission.

Nicholai knew that he would need to speak with his father eventually, that they would need to figure out what comes next.

For now he was content to let matters remain closed.

He loved his father and his family; he was simply not ready to forgive them, at least not yet.

A knock at the door drew him back from his musings.

"Yes?" he called out.

"It is time Herald," he heard Cassandra say from the other side of the door, "Our forces have gathered and are ready to move out."

Nicholai nodded and smoothed out the front of his apprentice's coat.

So we are ready at last, he thought, ready to find this Mother Giselle, and put things right.

He could not shake the sense of nervous excitement that rose up in his chest.

What the Inquisition wanted to do was not easy, he realized.

But…then again…

What good thing is?

"Thank you Seeker," he called out, a grim smile on his face.

"I'm ready."

IOI

Dying fires and smoke rose from the outskirts of the crossroads.

Natalya Song, now clad in the garb of an Inquisition scout stepped gingerly over the body of a fallen Templar, even as she slid her two curved daggers back into their sheath. The Inquisition had expected resistance from the rebel mages and Templars that continued to haunt these poor people, but no one could have expected that the bastards would dare to try to attack the Inquisition at the same time, and then, upon seeing their mortal enemies, turn on each other.

The bard rolled her eyes.

One did not need to be a strategic genius to see how far the Templars here had fallen, and as for the mages…

She shook her head.

She had thought that seeing one of their own at the head of an Inquisition army would be enough to get the rebel mages to at least consider talking with the Inquisition forces. Alas that had not been the case.

The mages had taken one look at Nicholai and Solas, screamed that they were traitors and charged flinging fire and lightning everywhere.

Song realizing that this madness could not continue had slid her way past her fellow scouts drew her daggers and had engaged the fools in close quarters combat. A mage might have the skill to turn a person's blood to fire, but that skill did not mean much when her blade had found their throats severing both arteries and vocal cords. One had tried to gesture, likely attempting a healing spell to save himself, only to find her reverse her attack and spin lower, spilling the contents of his belly on the stones of the crossroads.

She raised her fingers, she had scrubbed them the best she could in a small cold stream, but still little specks of blood remained.

She sighed.

The spins and flourishes of a bard's fighting style were not easy to defend against; the rebel mages had certainly had no defense. It was unfortunate that none of the fools stopped long enough to hear the Inquisition's offer of friendship.

Dead men were no longer threats, but they also could not be recruited.

In her eyes, those deaths had been a waste of talent.

Of course, it had not all been bad. She and her fellow scouts had set to work on the bodies even as the soldiers dealt with the flames that threatened to consume the crossroads. They scavenged many things from the beaten mages and Templars, dried food, water sacks, healing herbs, and even a few fur cloaks.

Most of these spoils should have been turned over to the quartermaster's people, but Natalya had found a better use for them.

She glanced down at herself, making sure she was not still covered in battle blood. She knew those not used to such things could find them…disturbing to their sensibilities.

Pronouncing herself good, she made her way to where the bulk of the refugees had gathered as the Inquisition soldiers made sure that all the mages and Templars had been dealt with. Most of the adults were now spreading out seeking to see if anything survived the brief yet bloody battle.

Two Inquisition soldiers stood guard over those that remained mostly the very old or the very young. The children who had been caught up in the fighting regarded her with frightened hungry eyes. None of these children, a mix of human and elven, looked like they had seen much happiness in their lives, not that she was surprised, war was hard on everyone, especially the very young.

"Hello," she said lowering her hood, "My name is Natalya…"

She gave them her most winning smile.

"I bring you greeting and good tidings from my brother the Herald of Andraste."

She snapped her fingers. Most of the people who had accompanied her had grown up on the surrounding farms. These people had suffered greatly during the Blight now ten years past, but had still managed to rebuild using a blend of courage and charity.

The scouts that had helped her scavenge what they could from the slain Templars and mages began distributing what they had found to these poor dears. The Seeker, she suspected, would likely rant that it had not been Natalya's decision to give away these goods, but once they had been dispersed, even Cassandra Pentaghast would have the courage to rip them away.

Song smiled as a little girl took a loaf of bread from her hands and brought it back to her two siblings.

Could these supplies have served the Inquisition, perhaps, but she had been around her father long enough to know that sometimes a bit of good will could pay off far better than mere coin.

Fighting the demons was not enough, she knew.

They needed to win the hearts and minds of the people, and she intended to do just that.

She would win those hearts and minds, not just for the Inquisition, but for Nicholai…

…and herself of course.

The mere thought was enough to make her giddy.

Nicholai had fallen into an incredible opportunity; the people of Thedas were scared, looking for someone lead them out of the darkness and into the light.

Her brother could be that man; his actions today could be the start of a dynasty that would last the next thousand years, a dynasty that she wanted to be a part of…that she needed to be a part of.

"Milady?"

She looked down, she found herself staring into the eyes of a blonde haired elven child, likely no more than six or seven years old.

She smiled.

"Yes, little one?"

The girl blushed, her elven ears twitched nervously.

"Are you reeley the herall's seester?"

She laughed dismissively.

"Of course child," she said, sitting down on an old log, she gestured for the child to join her, to sit on her lap. The girl came without a hint of resistance.

She wiped at a bit of dirt on the girl's face.

Poor little thing, she thought.

But perhaps, quite useful.

"Would you like to hear a story," she asked, "About the Herald of Andraste?"

The girl nodded, even as affirmatives went up from over a dozen other children who were enjoying the gifts that she and her fellows had bestowed upon them.

Song tried very hard not to grin in triumph.

This was not just a good beginning; it was an excellent start, one day, when historians wrote about her and role in the Inquisition, they would say that it was here that her rise began.

It was here that she laid the first stone.

"Gather around, my friends," she purred, "Let me tell you the tale of Herald of Andraste, the one who will conquer the breach on the behalf of the Inquisition."

She smiled broadly.

"He is here to help you, to save you."

"And…so am I."


	19. Fireside Chat

**Chapter 19: Fireside Chat**

The sun finally dropped below the rocky hills of the Hinterlands.

Trevelyan made his way through their latest Inquisition Camp, pausing occasionally to speak with this soldier or that scout. For the mage it was an old ritual, something he had done during those few quiet moments during the mage rebellion.

He preferred to see to his troops personally, let them see that he was fighting at their side; that he was not above them, and could be reached if needed.

Of course, back then, no one had considered him the Herald of Andraste, he had simply been a mage with enough skill in battle to serve as a commander, now, more than a few of their soldiers looked at him as if he had descended from on high to grant them his blessing…

He was not sure what to make of that.

They had left the relative safety of the crossroads to build this camp in the west, the king's road was a mess, burning homes and wagons dotted a chaotic battlefield where Templars and mages were still slaughtering each other like animals.

Trevelyan had tried to get the mages to see sense, he had tried to pull his punches in the beginning; he had wanted to at least try to get them to talk. The first mage he had encountered did not even pause; he had summoned flame and tried to burn Trevelyan and his allies to ash. Varric had put a crossbow bolt in the man's neck; he had died with barely a gurgle.

Nicholai shook his head.

There was no longer any discipline among the mages out here, and the Templars were no better. He had seen a Knight-Lieutenant and his party attack a wagon of refugees trying to reach that small tower east of here, where that religious cult had set up.

The Inquisition had been forced to kill those Templars to the last man. They had thrown themselves at Cassandra seeking to overwhelm her, while at the same time used their Templar abilities wildly, smiting everything around them but where Trevelyan and Solas stood.

Those men had been easy prey for the forces of the Inquisition. Solas commented that it had likely been a long time since the rogue Templars had faced a mage with any real talent.

Nicholai suspected another reason.

One of the Templar archers had not been wearing his helmet, the eyes that glinted beneath his cowl had been wild and half mad, his face bathed in sweat despite the chill of the Ferelden air.

Lyrium withdrawal, Trevelyan recognized, not surprising considering everything that had happened. The chantry, for years, had tried to use lyrium as a leash to keep their dogs under control. Most mages did not realize that, so stuck in Circle life and politics. As a Trevelyan, Nicholai had had a broader perspective when dealing with the chantry's defenders. The lyrium dependency **should** have guaranteed Templar loyalty, but that had not worked out. The Templars had responded over the years by building up relationship with lyrium smugglers, smugglers that had given the order more and more access to purer and stronger drafts of what the Templars called "the dust."

Nicholai guessed that many of the Templars who had made those contacts had parlayed those connections to become officers in the independent Templar army, officers who had likely been at the Conclave and had died with the Divine. Now, cut off from their suppliers, the Templar soldiers were left to suffer the harsh reality of withdrawal. He had heard that in Kirkwall, the late and unlamented Knight-Commander Meredith was famous for cutting her men's rations, knowing that being cut off from the dust would make her men more violent in dealing with their charges.

Trevelyan did not doubt that story. From what he had heard of the Kirkwall Circle it made perfect sense.

He returned to his place by the fire. Varric sat to his left, servicing and oiling his crossbow. Solas sat against a tree to his right, legs crossed hands resting on his knees breathing in and out in a state of deep meditation.

He watched as Song returned with a small company of scouts. Natalya had taken it upon herself to help one of the local hunters at the crossroads, recruiting several archers to hunt the rams that were more than bountiful in this part of Ferelden.

She smiled and nodded to her brother, who nodded and smiled back.

Nat might not have had the Trevelyan name, but she did possess the Trevelyan command presence, under her leadership, the scouts had killed enough rams to feed a small army, the little group piled their bounty into one of the few surviving carts they had found abandoned along the road, and were preparing to take the meat back to the Crossroads for distribution.

"The refugees will eat well tonight brother," she called out, "It may not be a feast like we had back in Ostwick, but I'm sure those poor souls will be more than grateful."

Cassandra looked up at Song with an icy glare. The Seeker's armor was stained with blood from the battles of the day, her dark stormy eyes pinned Trevelyan's sister.

"I trust you will not be charging those "poor souls" for this feast," she said.

Song snorted at the comment.

"Charity is its **own** reward Seeker," she said matter-of-factly, "And besides…"

Natalya smiled slyly.

"Gratitude buys far more than coin in these troubled times, if this act of kindness leads to greater loyalty for the Inquisition, than we are best served by being generous."

"Ugh," Cassandra growled with a shake of her head.

Nat smirked at the Seeker and gave her a cheery wave while she boarded the cart and began the journey back to Crossroads.

Trevelyan said nothing, Nat had not been wrong; House Trevelyan had always been involved with charitable works back in Ostwick, works that had bought the loyalty of more than a few good agents.

He did not blame his sister for plying Trevelyan ideas here, not when they could most definitely bear fruit.

He glanced across the fire at Cassandra, who still seemed to be fuming over the brief confrontation. The warrior woman made no bones about the fact that she did neither like nor trust Natalya.

He gave her a weak smile, hoping to smooth over any ruffled feathers.

"My sister means well, Seeker," he said, "You just have to learn to give her a chance."

Again Cassandra snorted.

"I've known people like her before, Herald," she responded, "They are very good at pretending to be righteous and honorable, but as soon as it is more profitable to betray those they claim to care about…"

The Seeker shook her head.

"Such people have left too many dead in their wake, dead with blades sticking out of their backs."

Trevelyan did not respond right away. Nat was still his sister, on some level he took offense with what the warrior woman had said…

Still…he knew what kind of a person Nat was.

He frowned slightly.

Cassandra was not entirely wrong.

Varric chuckled.

"It is nice to have someone around that gets your ire more than me Seeker," he said with a smirk.

She glared at him, but the dwarf did not quail, he just continued to give her a saucy grin.

Cassandra again turned her attention to Trevelyan.

"You need to be careful around your sister, Herald," she advised, "You should not forget the reason that brought her here in the first place."

"I've not forgotten," he said, "Nat can be dangerous, Maker knows I heard enough about her missions in Ostwick to recognize that fact, but at the same time I know how far she is willing to go when she sees profit in a cause."

He smiled at the Seeker.

"Natalya understands that the Breach must be closed, and she recognizes the fact that only the Inquisition can do it. That knowledge will keep her loyal to us, and by the time we find a way to close it, I'm sure that I will have found a new way to keep her in line."

Cassandra frowned. The Seeker was clearly not convinced, but she was smart enough to recognize that Natalya Song was a valuable resource. She had no doubt seen how taken the children back in the Crossroads had been with his sister, and after so little time as well.

Was Nat still looking out for herself, of course, but that did not make her an enemy.

Nat saw the value of the Inquisition, she would not turn her back on that, not as long as she profit from their relationship.

They sat in silence for a time, Nicholai watched Cassandra across the fire, the light illuminating her face, making the woman seem almost otherworldly. For the briefest of moments the almost constant scowl she wore faded, and was replaced by a look of peaceful tranquility she looked into the flames and seemed to step away from the chaos that surrounded them.

Nicholai envied that, he had known no peace since the Circles had rebelled.

It would have been nice to have been able to let go, even for a moment.

"Does it trouble you?"

He blinked realizing that the Seeker was addressing him again.

"Does what trouble me?" he asked.

She frowned slightly.

"I've read reports of your war record," she said, "Your fellow mages spoke highly of you. The few Templars reports that I saw suggested that you were far more dangerous than many of your fellows."

"To Templars maybe," he said dryly.

Cassandra did not let his flippancy distract her.

"You fought hard to aid your fellow mages," she continued, "Yet today…you had to kill many of them."

Trevelyan shrugged.

"They were attacking me," he answered.

"Still, it could not have been easy."

"Killing should never be easy," He said giving her an icy grin, "Don't you agree?"

Cassandra did not answer, the look on her face suggested that she was trying to think of a diplomatic answer

Trevelyan did not give her a chance to think of one.

"What of you Seeker?"

"Me?"

"Yes, you," Trevelyan said, trying to keep any anger out of his voice, "You killed many rogue Templars today, men and women who broke their oath to the chantry. Did you feel any pangs of regret as you cut them down?"

"Those men and women earned their fate," she responded, "Templars have joined the Inquisition, those we killed today were little more than bandits."

Trevelyan grinned.

"You did not answer my question. Did you or did you not feel anything when you killed them? They might have fought beside you once, and now they are dead by your hand."

The Seeker's eyes narrowed.

"I learned long ago Herald, that when I draw my blade, I should not worry about the life I'm taking. I should concern myself with the life I'm willing to let live."

Cassandra shook her head.

"I do not regret protecting the innocent from killers and thieves. If I regret anything, it is the missed opportunity that those men and women possessed. Had they joined us, how many would have served with distinction, how many would have become heroes in our ranks had they put aside their fear and hate, and embraced the opportunity the Inquisition offered."

The Seeker sighed.

"We should be better than this. Yet far too often we lose our way."

She once again glared at Trevelyan.

"Does that answer your question?"

He gave her a sad smile.

"It does indeed."

Trevelyan sighed and looked into the fire, for the briefest of moments he was not in the Inquisition camp, he was thinking of his frantic flight from Ostwick, of all the people he had lost along the way.

He thought of Gillian, even though that thought was like a dagger in his heart.

What would she think of all this? Would she have joined the Inquisition had she survived the Conclave?

He wanted to say yes, but he could not answer for sure, and that doubt would haunt him for a very long time.

The silence between the Seeker and the mage was quite heavy; Varric continued to service his weapon, not wishing to draw the attention of either of them.

Solas remained oblivious; his breathing went in and out, as his mind explored the wonders of the fade.

It was Nicholai who finally broke the spell. He ran his hand through his hair and let out a tired sigh.

"Did you hear of Asch's Crossing, Seeker?" he asked.

"A Templar garrison," she answered, "Lightly defended it fell to you during the rebellion, if I my contacts are correct."

"Partially," Nicholai answered, "I lead my people to _Asch's Crossing_ to seek an alliance with the mages that had taken it. Our supplies were low, and I was looking for a chance to bolster my forces."

Trevelyan shook his head, he had never spoken of this to an outsider before, all those that had stood with him had not needed to talk about it, they had been there, and felt that their leader did not need to justify his actions.

Perhaps that was why he felt he needed to speak of it now.

"We arrived to find the town overrun by shades. The mages that had taken it had turned to blood magic to bolster their forces. They had enslaved the minds of the villagers and used them to carry out their little sneak attack."

Trevelyan's eyes narrowed at the memory, he could still hear the laugher of those two blood mage bitches that had caused that chaos. He could still see the fear and hate in the eyes of the survivors, hate he had tried to lessen by his actions.

"They had thought themselves so mighty they never dreamed that their fellow mages would disagree, that they would take offense to such actions."

Cassandra gave him an arched look.

"I take it you took offense?"

"I did," he said flatly.

"I waited until their leaders were too close to escape, then I gave the order. We came to _Asch's Crossing_ to secure an alliance yet I ordered every blood mage in that village killed, we spared no one. Only the civilian were to be left alive. I had hoped that they would pass on what they had seen that they would tell everyone that even though a mage had enslaved them, it was a mage that set them free."

Cassandra tilted her head, clearly curious now.

"So, the blood mages were not a part of your group?"

Nicholai pinned her with a hostile look.

"I was loyal to the Circle, Seeker. I was an Enchanter in the college of Aequitarians. I would have stayed in the circle had the leadership not voted to leave. Had the Templars not risen up against the chantry and tried to exterminate us."

He let out another tired sigh.

"Seekers are not the only ones with principles," he reminded her, "I never thought we could defeat the Templars in a straight up fight, but I believed that we could give a good enough account of ourselves to force the Templars to the negotiating table. Blood magic and summoning demons, was not the way to do that. Could we have used the mages who had taken _Asch's Crossing_? We could have. Yet I tried to stay true to the principles on which the Circle was founded. Now, here we are, the Circles are gone, and rogue mages and Templars are slaughtering innocents for no damn good reason."

Nicholai rose from where he was sitting, the mark on his hand sparked, perhaps feeding off his emotion. The conversation had left him mentally exhausted.

"I'm going to get some rest," he said, "All this talking is an exhausting business."

He gave her a sad look.

"You are right about regretting missed opportunities Seeker. All we can do now is cling to our principles, and hope that they don't get more people killed."

He gave her a dark smile.

"It is nice to be able to take the moral high road, isn't Seeker," he asked dryly.

Trevelyan retired before she could answer. The Seeker stared into the flames, perhaps thinking about all those that had been lost, many of them by her hand.

Cassandra Pentaghast sighed.

"It is nice," she agreed with a frown.

"Nice but hard."

 **A/N: I would like to send out my thanks for the outpouring of support I've received over the last week. Your kind words and reviews have helped me deal with the difficult time. You guys and gals rock!**

 **Until next time dear readers,**

 **DG**


	20. Just Men

**Chapter 20: Just Men**

"She is dead Milady."

Natalya Song looked down at the body, the girl, probably only a few years younger than herself had died badly, beaten, raped, and then left naked and bloody on the east road. The scout, a female elf, looked pale, from what she had heard, the girl had grown up on a farm outside of Highever, this was probably the first time she had ever seen such butchery up close.

The girl's reaction made Natalya…a little envious.

Over the years, she had become intimate with death and suffering, she regretted that she could no longer feel sickened by such a sight.

Kurtz leaned down, and turned the girl's head, her neck had been twisted at an odd angle. Her pale green eyes stared up at nothing, tears stained her bruised cheeks.

Natalya had originally not wanted the sell-sword along. He had spent too much time with her family; she did not want him telling the scouts about her history with House Trevelyan. Surprisingly enough, the man had stayed quiet for the bulk of their journey, speaking only when spoken to, and never volunteering more than what he was asked.

Perhaps she should not have been surprised.

The man had always been a professional.

Showing a gentleness that Natalya had never expected, Kurtz closed the girl's eyes, he then covered her body with one of her murderers' cloaks. It was not much, but at least they preserved at least some of the girl's dignity even in death.

The Inquisition had been hunting through the hills, pushing back the rogue Templars and apostates that were harassing the eastern road. Nicholai had made his way to Redcliffe, looking to find a healer for the wounded there. Natalya had taken her men into the hills to make sure that the mages and Templars did not harm the people at the crossroads while they were occupied.

Unfortunately, they could not save everyone, as this poor girl would likely attest, or would if she still drew breath.

Natalya frowned.

The scouts had heard her screams too late, screams that had been cut short.

They had arrived to find a pair of Templars standing over her, one putting his armor back on. Both of the men had been dirty, their eyes wild. One had drawn his sword and tried to charge them, but that man died, his chest plate breached by over a dozen arrows.

The other man, still only half dressed tried to surrender, Natalya only had to take one look at the dead girl to decide the man's fate.

She doubted that even Seeker Pentaghast would have denied her this justice.

She slit the man's throat with her first strike, and then caught him across the belly with the second, as he slumped down she drove her blade into his ear. She might have struck him again, but Kurtz grabbed her wrist, stopping her and pushing her up against the rocks.

The grizzled old sell-sword glared at her.

"He was as good as dead after the first strike lass," he said grimly.

"You can stop now."

Natalya glared at him, but she was smart enough not to start an argument with Kurtz in front of the rest of the men. Kurtz still had her brother's ear after all, no reason to risk alienating him, or looking like a monster in front of the scouts.

She knew that her plans were still in their infancy, it would not do to let others see her…darker side…

…At least not yet.

Kurtz picked up a scrap of cloth from the dead girl's dress; he ran his fingers over the fabric.

"Fine silk," he recognized, "Gold trim…I think this lass was a noble."

"Or perhaps a lady in waiting," Natalya added, "Lot of nobles died at the Conclave, their servants were left with no one to serve."

The elven scout who had found the body shook her head as she regarded the dead Templars. One of her allies a man named Shamus spat on the dead men.

"When I was small," the young man said, "All I wanted to be was a Templar. I wanted to protect people from evil and demons."

Shamus shook his head.

"I can't believe that Templars would do something like this."

"Templars are just men," Kurtz said with a shrug,

"They are just as weak as any other man."

Natalya winced.

Maker that was bleak, she thought, she might have agreed, but that did not mean that that was what the scouts needed to hear.

Fortunately, she saw this for the opportunity that this was.

What she had to say next was for the faithful, those brave souls who had flocked to the Inquisition to do the Maker's work.

"The Templars have lost their way," she said with just the right amount of regret in her voice, "They have traded faith for power."

She kneeled down and gently laid her hand on the dead girl's forehead.

"Whoever this girl was, we failed her. All we can do now is try to do better. We will defeat those that commit acts of cruelty in the Maker's name. We will deal with the pretenders that think that lyrium is a substitute for faith, that power is preferable to goodness."

Natalya rose, her eyes flashing with excitement.

"We will save who we can, and build a new empire, an empire of righteousness. We will teach those who believe they are above justice what the Maker's judgment truly feels like."

She could see it in the eyes of those around her; they were nodding, drinking in her words.

She had them, she realized now it was time to seal the deal.

"We are the righteous, we loyal few. Pilgrims, mages, former Templars, farmers and tradesmen, we are the true face of the Inquisition, and with the Herald to guide us, we shall not fail.

She raised her blade over her head.

"We will show the Maker that we remember!"

"We will show the world…that we believe!"

A cheer rose up from the scouts that had accompanied her. They were all fired up by her words.

Kurtz stood at the back, his arms across his chest, his expression unreadable.

The only clue to what he might have felt was a slight nod in her direction.

Did he believe what she had said, she could not say…

…she was not sure if she believed it herself.

It was at that time that one of the rear guard she had left returned.

Someone was coming up the path.

They were about to have company.

"Take cover," she ordered, "These may be allies of those that we just dealt with.

She gave the scouts a sly smile.

"If they are, we will give them a nice warm reception."

Some of the scouts chuckled at that as they took cover, eager to punish the pretenders and enemies of the true warriors of the faith. Natalya slid behind a particularly large rock, her blades drawn ready to deal with whatever was approaching.

Kurtz joined her; she gave him an arched look.

The sell-sword shrugged.

"Pretty speech," he said.

She nodded.

"I suppose so."

"Do you actually believe it?"

She did not answer. Kurtz likely did not expect her to.

He no doubt suspected the truth.

Natalya took a calming breath and waited for their guests to step into their trap. She heard the sound of voices approaching.

Her brow furrowed slightly.

These voices were…familiar.

"Oh yes, Seeker," the first voice said, dripping with sarcasm, "I'm so lucky that you dragged me out of my home in the middle of the night."

"I interrogated you," a haughty Nevarran voice responded, "It could have gone much worse."

"Oh yes, thank you ever so much for not torturing me, Seeker. Several death threats were so much more merciful."

"Now children," a third voice said, this one trying very hard not to sound exasperated.

"Can't we all just get along?"

Natalya smiled.

It wasn't more Templars that was clear.

The Herald of Andraste was approaching.

It was time to meet and greet.

IOI

Nicholai had only just begun to raise his staff when he realized that those emerging from hiding were fellow members of the Inquisition.

He noticed Kurtz and Natalya almost immediately; he smiled in greetings to them.

"Kurtz," he said, "Nat."

"Lad," the sell-sword answered.

"Brother," Natalya said curtseying.

Trevelyan noticed the woman's body covered up on the side of the path, not to mention the two dead Templars.

He gave his sister an arched look.

"They were murderers brother," she explained, "Rapists too."

Nicholai nodded. They had heard far worst stories about the rogue Templars since arriving in the Hinterlands.

"Herald?"

He turned to find Cassandra holding up a bloodied piece of parchment, she had found it in a small pouch near the body.

Trevelyan opened it and read it. He shook his head.

"This poor girl's name was Vellina," he informed his fellows. "She was on her way to meet someone named Berand, looks like he is part of the group hiding up in Winterwatch tower."

Cassandra snorted at that news.

"Scout Harding mentioned them," the Seeker said with disdain in her voice. "They think that the Maker is using the breach to cleanse the land of wickedness."

Natalya shrugged.

"Maybe they are not wrong," she said, "Every bandit, rogue Templar, and apostate that the demons destroy is one less that we have to deal with."

The Seeker glared at Song.

"It is not our place to make such judgment."

Natalya gave her feral smile. Nicholai could almost see the retort forming on his sister's lips; he stopped her with a raised hand.

Cassandra and Natalya might not have been enemies, but it was clear that they were not friends either. If not for the unifying cause of the Inquisition…

Trevelyan could not say how his sister and the Seeker would react to one another.

He glanced down at the paper in his hand, and at the body of the fallen noble.

He gave her a sad look.

"We should go find this Berand," he said, "Let him know that this woman will not be joining him."

Solas smiled slightly.

"A kind act to be sure," the elf said.

"It will also give us a chance to investigate Winterwatch," Cassandra added, "We should determine if these people will be a help or a hindrance."

"Wisely said Seeker," Natalya agreed, "We should go to Winterwatch."

The Seeker gave Song a cold look.

"We?"

Natalya smiled at her.

"If these cultists resist Inquisition authority it might be wise to have more than a few blades between them and the Herald."

She nodded at Nicholai.

"Better safe than sorry, yes?"

Nicholai glanced back and forth between his sister and the Seeker. He did not need to be a mind reader to guess the Seeker's reaction to all this.

Still…Natalya was not wrong…

…A little help never hurt.

"We shall journey to Winterwatch," he proclaimed, "Both to bring sad tidings to this Berand, but also to see if we have potential enemies or allies in these hills."

Cassandra glared at Natalya Song, but did not dispute what he had said.

Nicholai knew that Cassandra would not risk contradicting him in front of the soldiers, his value as Herald would be undercut if a member of the war council was not on the same page as he.

Still from the look on the Seeker's face he knew he would hear about this later.

Cassandra was not the type to let such trespasses go unanswered.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

Hopefully he could earn the Inquisition a few friends in Winterwatch that might soften some of the Seeker's hard feelings…maybe.

He smiled at her, but she looked away, shaking her head in…disgust.

He sighed.

So much for him earning good will with the Seeker, he thought...

It seemed that he couldn't do anything right with her, no matter what he did.

Never the less, he would keep trying.

What else could he do?

IOI

An hour later, the Inquisition forces marched out of the cultist compound that had once been Winterwatch tower.

Along with their own soldiers travelled the Lord Berand and his men. It had not been hard for Natalya Song to convince him to join them. The man had been understandably distraught; learning about the death of his lover in such a way would be hard on anyone. Natalya had done her best to downplay what had happened, how the girl had suffered. She had no desire to the see the passionate young man go running off on a vendetta. His lady was dead, but that did not mean that her death had to be in vain. It was not hard to convince the man to take up his sword in support of the Inquisition. Brave and righteous men would be needed, even after they managed to seal the breach.

As for the Herald of Andraste, he proved his worth to those poor souls who had come to this place to hide.

At the center of the tower a small rift had formed, the cultists had left offerings to the demons, hoping to appease them, and keep them quiet. Both Cassandra and Nicholai had been amazed that none of the creatures had emerged to attack the people here.

The demons, all lesser terrors, had no doubt been feeding on the emotions of the cultist, those who believed that their world was ending. The leader of the cult, a woman called Speaker Anais had not believed that Nicholai was the Herald of Andraste; she thought the tales of him sealing rifts were simple heresy.

Nicholai Trevelyan proved her wrong.

Natalya had stood beside the cultists had watched as her brother and his allies attacked the terrors that had emerged from the rift. She had never seen her brother seal a rift before, and was curious just what had happened that had made so many rush to Nicholai's banner.

After seeing the rift close, she no longer doubted him.

After that, Nicholai could have asked anything of the woman and her followers, and they probably would have done it.

She watched as Anais and her followers got down on their hands and knees before her brother. Nicholai, being Nicholai, did not lord it over them. All he wanted from them, was to provide help for the refugees at the Crossroads, they agreed without a single word of complaint.

Natalya could not help but be impressed. Her brother was not just a mage; he was charismatic, and a natural leader.

He was more than just a man, what he would become would be something better…something greater…

…Even if he did not realize it yet himself.

All would soon see that greatness, soon many more would flock to the side of the Herald of Andraste.

Her brother had confessed to her that even he was not sure about this Herald of Andraste business, but he was smart enough to recognize the need to bring in more allies.

For that reason alone, he let the people around him believe what they believed.

Natalya could barely stifle the smile that threatened to bloom on her face. In this moment, she finally realized that she had made the right decision.

Whatever that mark was on Nicholai's hand, whether coincidence, or providence, it was a mark of power. People were drawn to it, and her brother's easy charm. The more he denied what he was becoming the more people would think it simple humility and continue to flock to his banner.

Her father and the chantry mothers back in Ostwick had been wrong.

Nicholai was not the end of House Trevelyan.

He was a new beginning.

And through her, that beginning would spread like wildfire. If and when he sealed the breach, no one would dare question his power.

Nicholai was on the road to greatness…

…and she would be right behind him.


	21. The Next Step

**Chapter 21: The Next Step**

"The rogue Templars and apostates that threatened the Hinterlands have been dealt with, the survivors have scattered, and can be hunted down at our leisure."

Nicholai stared intently at the map. A piece of parchment could not describe the damage he had seen during his month in the Hinterland, the suffering that the Templars and mages had brought upon the people living there, the destroyed homes, the innocents murdered simply because they had gotten caught up in the war.

The mage shook his head.

At least that was over, the Inquisition had made sure of that.

He was currently meeting with the rest of the Inquisition war council. He had to admit he had been a little intimidated the first time he had stood in this room. He might have been the son of a powerful Bann, but that seemed small compared to the company that now gave orders to the Inquisition.

Leliana and Cassandra, the left and right hands of the Divine, both women had seen and done much in their lives. One a hero that had saved the Divine and so many others from a flight of dragons during the ten year gathering twenty years earlier, and the other a hero of the Blight, she had stood beside the legendary Alim Surana, her bow aiding him as he brought down the fifth Archdemon.

Commander Cullen had once been knight-commander of Kirkwall; he had served under Meredith Stannard, and according to legend, tried to stop the mad Templar when she tried to have the Champion of Kirkwall purged with the rest of her charges. Some might say that he was partially responsible for what came next, the madness that led to the mage rebellion. Nicholai was not one of those, he had lived in the Circle; he had seen the coming storm. There had been too much anger coming out of the other circles, he had seen that at every meeting of the College of Magi in the last ten years.

Kirkwall may have been the spark, but the blaze had been set years earlier. If not Kirkwall, something else would have ignited the inferno.

Josephine Montilyet, the former Ambassador from Antiva to Orlais, she had come to the Inquisition with a well-known noble pedigree, and a reputation that even he had heard of, even it had been only in passing. It was not surprising that Sister Leliana had approached her about aiding the Inquisition in these troubled times. Trevelyan had already seen one instance of her calming visiting nobles; others would no doubt come, so it was good that they had her on their side.

The Inquisition could not ask for a better advocate.

Now he stood before these four, explaining the last month they had spent in the Hinterlands. He may have had the power to seal rifts, but it was here that the Inquisition would decide their next move in attacking the breach.

It was here that what they did next was decided.

"So it is over," Ambassador Montilyet said with a sigh, the refugees of the Hinterlands are now safe."

"They are safer than they were Ambassador," Cassandra chimed in, "But stopping the Mage-Templar fighting is only one aspect of a larger problem."

"There is still a lot of outlaw traffic on the king's road, and into the east," Trevelyan said motioning to the map, "The bulk of it seems to be focused on this castle in the south. For a pack of outlaws they seem far better equipped than most."

Trevelyan sighed.

"We dealt with one of their camps, but it may become necessary to root out the rest of them. I will see to it myself should the problem persist."

"If that is what it takes, Herald," Cullen said with a nod, "So be it, what about the old horse-master from Redcliffe, has he agreed to aid us?"

"He was having problems with demon possessed wolves," Cassandra chimed in, "We dealt with that, but the outlaws we spoke of may yet remain a problem for his farmers."

"He has asked us to construct a few watchtowers," Nicholai said motioning over the map, "If we put them here, here, and here, then he should be willing to give us the mounts we need."

The mage smiled.

"It would be nice for the Inquisition to be able to field a decent cavalry."

Cullen's eyes swept over the locations that the man had provided.

"Should be easy enough," he said, "My men can have those watchtowers up in no time."

"Protecting the refugees and remaining farmers would go a long way in securing many allies," Ambassador Montilyet said, "Though we still have had no luck approaching either the mages or the Templars to aid us against the breach."

"You have thoughts on that point Ambassador?" Nicholai asked.

"Indeed," the Antivan said with a gentle smile, "I have spoken further with Mother Giselle, her insistence on having you address the surviving clerics in Val Royeaux **does** seem to have merit."

Cullen snorted at that.

"I don't see the point myself," Cullen said, "The chantry has not lifted a finger to help anyone since the destruction at the Conclave, and by asking for their support we are just giving credence to the idea that we care what the chantry says."

"We still have no way to gather any support in out attempts to seal the breach," the Ambassador reminded him, "If we could convince the chantry that we are not an enemy to be feared, perhaps the mages and Templars would be more open to speaking to us."

"But in doing so," Leliana said with a slight tilt of her head, her blue eyes glinting beneath her cowl, "We are ignoring the danger to the Herald. Let us not forget that the chantry branded us heretics. Who is to say that they would not use the opportunity of this meeting to eliminate someone they consider a threat."

"And how would they do so," the Antivan asked, "They have no Templars to carry out their will."

"They have _coin_ Josie," Leliana said coolly, "Bounty hunters do not need to believe in the Maker. All they need is the smell of gold and they are off to eliminate their target."

Nicholai winced.

He was well aware of the fact that he had a price on his head, both the one set by the Templars during the early days of the rebellion, and likely new ones since the destruction of the Conclave.

The mage's brow furrowed in thought.

 _Would the cleric dare put a bounty out on him?_ It was possible he supposed. He had seen how Chancellor Roderick had reacted to him, and that was even after he had stabilized the breach.

 _Who knew how far the distance revered mothers would go?_

 _Fear often many people make foolish decisions._

"Mother Giselle feels that at least some of the clerics may listen," the Ambassador continued to push, "It may be worth the risk."

She looked up at Nicholai.

"Maybe we should ask the Herald."

Nicholai glanced up at her and at the rest of the council. He had not really gotten a chance to know them all yet, not in the way he had gotten to know his old allies during the rebellion. The only one he could say that he could trust was Cassandra. Their last month fighting together had forged a bond between them.

He did not think that she liked him, but respect had definitely taken root. He had saved her life during the attack on the apostate camp in Witchwood, and she had saved his during a rather tough fight sealing one of the breaches on the king's road, a despair demon had had him in its grip, and the Seeker had stood between it and him, giving him time enough to recover his wits and strike the beast down.

He glanced over at Cassandra, she seemed focused on the task at hand, but he did not doubt that she would stand with him if his life was in danger.

She had too much honor to do otherwise.

She had confessed that she was not sure whether he had been sent by Andraste or not. She believed that he had been sent to help, but as she had said, the Maker's help takes many forms.

She was at least willing to see where their pathway led.

"I'm willing to try," he admitted, "I'm just worried that this may not accomplish anything. Even if the mothers hear me, who is to say that they are willing to support us."

"Well said Herald," Cullen said crossing his arms, "this may be waste of time."

Cassandra sighed.

"I shall go with him," she said, she turned to Ambassador Montilyet.

"Mother Giselle said she could provide us with a list of names, use them."

"But why," Leliana said, "We are just…"

"What choice do we have Leliana?" Cassandra sighed, "We can do nothing more against the breach until the mages and Templars agree to hear us; this may be the only way to arrange that."

A knock at the door caused all the counsellors to turn.

"Yes?" Cassandra called out.

"It's Kurtz, Milady," the sell-sword answered, "You better have Commander Cullen get out here right now, the Herald too if that is possible."

Nicholai's eyes narrowed, it was rare that he heard concern in Kurtz' voice, the gnarled old bastard had seen so much in his time that little phased him.

Yet, he sounded concerned now.

"What is it Kurtz?" he asked.

"Our mages and Templars are gathering outside," the man answered, "I…I think they are getting ready to kill each other."

All five members of the council made for the door, Cullen and Trevelyan in the lead. They could hear angry voices beyond the doors to the chantry, the few sisters that had been outside had fallen back inside, just in case the violence sprang out of control.

Cullen and Nicholai made for those voices, while Cassandra and Leliana remained behind to protect those in the chantry if they failed. They had all suspected that there would be problems trying to integrate the former enemies into the Inquisition…

Now they needed to head those problems off. If they did not…

The Inquisition could die in its infancy.

Kurtz stood with Trevelyan and Nicholai as they opened the doors, over a dozen mages faced off with over a dozen Templars just outside.

Neither side looked much like they were in the mood for talking.

Cullen recognized the man leading the Templars, one of the survivors from the Conclave explosion. His armor bore the markings of a full Knight-Lieutenant, but Cullen had yet found him a place among the officers here.

On the mages' side, stood one of Trevelyan's original followers, Girard was his name, if Nicholai was not mistaken. Girard had been a member of the Libertarians, yet he had stood with Trevelyan since the fall of the siege of Tantervale.

The man had never had a good view of Templars, Nicholai remembered that much.

It was not surprising to find him among the rabble rousers now.

"Your kind killed the Most Holy," the Templar growled at the mage.

"Lies," Girard spat back, "Your kind let her die."

The Templar growled and started to reach for his belt, getting ready to draw his sword.

"SHUT YOUR MOUTH MAGE!"

The mages began to raise their hands and their staves.

Cullen and Trevelyan jumped between them.

"Weapons down," Nicholai shouted to his fellows.

The all paused shocked to see him standing there.

"NOW!"

Cullen seized the Knight-Lieutenant by the arm, stopping him mid-draw.

"Enough," he ordered.

The Templar looked like he had been slapped.

"Knight-Captain?" he said, sounding confused.

Cullen pushed him back.

"That is not my title," he said almost sticking a finger in the man's face.

He turned to the other Templars.

"We are not Templars anymore. We are all members of the Inquisition!"

"The Commander is right," Trevelyan said to his fellow mages, "the breach is our enemy, not each other."

He frowned at Girard.

"When you agreed to stay, you promised to let go of the past."

He looked out over the mages.

"We want the world to look at us and see more than a pack of ruthless apostates. The only way to do that is stand with the rest of the faithful."

He was pleased to see at least a few of his fellows showed signs of shame.

After everything that had happened.

Trevelyan was glad to see that at least some of his brethren still held their oaths sacred.

"We're all members of the Inquisition," he said, "Like the Commander said."

"And what does that mean exactly?"

Both Trevelyan and Cullen turned.

Chancellor Roderick made his way through the crowd, the Templars parting in the man's wake.

Trevelyan frowned.

At least they knew what had caused this, or rather who.

Cullen seemed to share his opinion; he glared at the man in the red and white robes.

"Back already Chancellor," he inquired, "Haven't you done enough?"

"I merely sent my report to Val Royeaux," the man answered.

"And had us all declared heretics," Cullen spat.

"That was never my suggestion," the chancellor replied.

"Yet you did nothing to prevent it."

The Chancellor did not answer that, the man simply stood a little straighter trying to appear taller than what he was.

Nicholai tried not to let his anger get the best of him.

The little man had all but condemned him before their first meeting, had Cassandra not stood up for him, he likely would have been dragged back to Val Royeaux and executed for blowing up the Conclave.

That knowledge made it very hard for Trevelyan to see the man as anything else but an enemy.

Still…the man was smart enough not to openly try to oppose them.

It was likely the only reason he was still allowed to walk the streets of Haven.

"Back to your duties," Cullen shouted at the mages and Templars, "All of you."

Slowly the two groups dispersed.

Trevelyan motioned to Kurtz to go with the mages, make sure that they did what they were told. The sell-sword might not have been in command, but he had fought beside them enough times now that they did trust that he was not their enemy.

Kurtz would do more to keep order than a hundred Inquisition soldiers, at least until Trevelyan had a chance to talk to Girard and the others.

Right now though, he thought with a frown.

Right now, they had to deal with the chancellor.

The man refused to look at Trevelyan, he clearly saw Cullen as the true source of authority here.

 _Lucky Cullen_ , Nicholai thought, with the barest hint of a smirk.

"I'm curious commander," the man began, "How you and this…Inquisition are going to restore order like you promised."

"Of course you are," Cullen sneered, "I suppose that is the only reason you decided to show up now."

Trevelyan gave the chantry man a cheery smile.

"Tell me commander," he said dryly, "Why exactly are we letting the chancellor remain in Haven?"

The man glared at Nicholai.

"Clearly your Templar knows where to draw the line mage,' he answered.

"I can speak for myself Chancellor," Cullen growled.

The man fell silent.

Cullen glanced at Nicholai.

"I allow him to remain Herald because he is toothless. No point in turning him into a martyr because he runs at the mouth, and he is a good gauge of what you might face in Val Royeaux."

"A good enough reason," Nicholai quipped.

The chancellor gave him a sour look.

"You claim to be trying to restore order, yet it is clear that your decision to let mages and Templars serve together is not working. Your soldiers would tear each other apart if left to their own devices."

"Yes," Cullen agreed, "And I suppose that would never happen within the chantry."

"We have centuries of tradition to fall back on, Commander," he reminded them, "We are not looking to turn over every apple cart."

"But you would be willing to let the Herald of Andraste be used as a scapegoat? You are willing to let the Templar-mage fighting to continue?"

The Chancellor snorted.

"The Maker and Andraste will show us the way," he said imperiously.

Trevelyan shook his head.

"You know," he said, "We're willing to compromise. We are at least willing to speak with the chantry. You and yours are the only ones who continue to say that it is impossible to work together."

"We might. I never said that cooperation was impossible," Chancellor Roderick sighed, "I have merely preached patience. We should give Val Royeaux a chance, we should wait and let a new Divine take the sunburst throne; then we will have a leader, a true figure of authority guide us back to order."

"If that is even possible," Cullen snorted.

Nicholai frowned as he regarded the chancellor.

"I've seen the chaos out there Chancellor. I've seen the death and destruction, waiting patiently is not an option."

"So what is the alternative,' Roderick asked, "That the faithful should turn to the rebel Inquisition and its Herald, should the people of Thedas simply put their trust in a star struck wanderer sitting on a mountainside?"

Trevelyan smirked at that. He glanced over at Cullen.

"Do you see me as a star struck wanderer Commander?" he asked dryly.

"You seem very lucid to me, Herald."

Nicholai chuckled.

"See chancellor, I'm not so bad if you give me a chance."

The man snorted and turned away, where he was off to no one could say.

Nicholai sighed and glanced over at the commander.

"Perhaps the Ambassador is right after all," he said.

"Maybe we should head to Val Royeaux."

The two men spotted Natalya coming up the path; she passed Chancellor Roderick without a word. As for the Roderick himself he did not give her a second glance, unusual considering her connections.

She smiled as she approached.

"That did not look pleasant," she said dryly.

"You have a real gift of understatement Nat," her brother said.

Cullen excused himself; he murmured something of checking on their Templars, to make sure that the trouble they had seen had truly passed.

That left the two siblings alone, staring up at the swirling breach in the distance.

It was Natalya herself who broke the silence, she sighed heavily.

"It is not enough is it?"

Nicholai glanced over at her. She looked worried.

"What we have done so far," she clarified, "We still have a long way to go."

Nicholai nodded.

His sister was not wrong.

The mages and Templars remained distant; fighting between the two remained a problem.

He did not like the idea of betting everything on a visit to Val Royeaux, but it was like Cassandra had said.

What choice did they have?

If they were to move forward, the road passed through one city now.

The mage shook his head.

They had no choice.

They needed to go to Val Royeaux.


	22. Seeker and Song

**Chapter 22: Seeker and Song**

As work continued in setting up the Herald's trip to Val Royeaux, Ambassador Montilyet brought up another possible problem that the Inquisition needed to deal with.

"The Ferelden nobles have not made any moves against us, so far," The Antivan began, "They had no desire to risk themselves in dealing with the mage Templar fighting, but...not that the Herald has dealt with the problem..."

Cullen's face turned sour.

"You believe that the nobles might start causing us problems? We did the work, now they think that they can simply move back in and reap the benefits?"

Josephine frowned.

"I would not have put it quite so...bluntly," she sniffed, "But...yes, I believe that is a possibility."

Leliana pursed her lips.

"You have a suggestion on that point Josie?"

"I do," the Ambassador smiled, "I believe we should send an envoy to Denerim. By now, there are many wild rumors circulating about the Inquisition, we need to get out ahead of them, make sure that no one convinces King Alistair or Queen Allegra that we are an enemy to be feared."

"Good idea," Nicholai said rubbing his chin thoughtfully, he looked over at Leliana.

"It might be a good idea to have eyes and ears in the Ferelden royal court. I'm sure you already have people there sister, but having a more visible representative might help quell many fears."

The spymaster crossed her arms over her chest.

"Perhaps," she agreed, "But who would we send? We cannot spare Josie right now, and we have not yet had time to cultivate a noble contact who could serve in this function?"

Cassandra's eyes narrowed. Clearly she did not like the idea that had taken root inside her head, but that did not mean that she saw no value in it.

"There is one we could turn to," she said.

The rest of the war council turned to her, again she looked almost sickened from making the suggestion.

she looked at Nicholai, clearly hoping he would back her.

"With your permission of course, Herald," she said, "If you disagree, I will withdraw my suggestion."

Nicholai shrugged.

"Who did you have in mind?"

The Seeker sighed.

She told him her idea.

IOI

"We're sending you to Denerim."

Natalya Song, half-sister of Nicholai Trevelyan blinked. Two months had passed since the formal declaration, the declaration that the Inquisition was reborn. Since that time, she had fought often at her brother's side, eager to serve. Together, along with the rest of their allies, they had begun to bring peace to the trouble lands near Redcliffe.

They had fought back to back often during those months. She had come to think of herself as a worthy advisor for her herald, her sibling. So, when he had summoned her to the chantry in Haven, she had not expected this…

In fact, she had expected anything, but _this_.

Her catlike green eyes widened, her normally hidden emotions nearly came to the surface.

She took a deep breath, trying to recover her poise and self-control.

She smiled slightly.

"Brother, I…I am _flattered_ of course, but surely I'm needed more here, at _your_ side."

The Herald shook his head.

"We need eyes in the capital," he continued, "I can think of no one better than you to be those eyes, especially as we move forward."

The bard paused; some might consider this assignment a reward, a chance to get out of the cold and isolation of Haven. Denerim was not Val Royeaux or their beloved Ostwick, but at least it was civilization.

Part of her welcomed the chance to go, the chance to live in civilization again, hot baths, salons, and noble conversations. It was the world she had been born into, or right on the edge of, anyway. She had missed these things. She could write to father in greater detail, explain everything that had happened…

It would also give her a chance to write her beloved Oliver, let him know she was alright.

Yes…it was **very** tempting indeed.

Some might see such an offer as a reward, to get away from the blood and fire, at least for a while.

But...was it?

She managed, just barely to stifle a frown.

A reward?

Natalya was not so sure. She had grown up around Nicholai, knew his tells and how to gauge his mood.

 _He seemed…_ troubled _by this._

It only made her more concerned.

It made her want to know _why this?_ _Why now?_

She knew her brother served on the war council, but he was far from the only voice. Ambassador Montilyet who she had met recently, Sister Leliana of course, who clearly did not trust her. Commander Cullen, who was quite delicious, or would be if he was not so serious all the time…,

 _Why would any of them want her out of Haven? She had done nothing to wrong them. Why would…?_

Natalya paused.

A thought occurred to her, a name _._

 _It… made all the difference._

Her eyes narrowed slightly, she had forgotten the **last** member of the war council, the one who she was not entirely on good terms with?

The bard shook her head.

She _should_ have _known._

IOI

She had first identified Seeker Pentaghast as a threat during their first few weeks in the Hinterlands. It was clear that the former Nevarran princess did not trust her. Natalya had done her best to win the woman's favor; she was, after all, the one who proclaimed the Inquisition reborn in the first place.

Cassandra Pentaghast could be either a powerful ally, or a dangerous enemy.

 _The bard needed to know which she would be to her._

While Cassandra, Nicholai, Solas, and Varric were thumping through the wilderness of the hinterlands, fighting demons, apostates, and rogue Templars. Natalya had set up shop at the Crossroads. She had managed to convince Corporal Vale, the inquisition Commander there, that she was had contacts in the local settlements. Contacts that could help the Inquisition care for the frightened, starving refugees. Vale looking for any help he could find, accepted her at her word, even going so far as to offer her a small company of men to aid her in her search for supplies.

She had not wasted his generous offer.

Most of the refugees had been commoners or peasants, but a few had been merchants, artisans, and other skilled trade folk. She traded what she and her people could find to these people in exchange for both good will and information. It was from these that she had learned the location of the various supply caches hidden by the rogue mages. She also armed and enlisted the aid of several local hunters to hunt the wild rams that flourished so well in the rocky environment.

She gifted these supplies to the refugees in the name of her brother, the Herald of Andraste. Many of the people began to grow curious of their new benefactor. They often had questions, and she was always happy to oblige with answers.

After all, it was her holy duty to spread her brother's word, and what was a true bard if she could not spin an intriguing tale?

She was happy to tell them about her brother.

He was a servant of the Bride of the Maker after all.

In less than a week she had gained the contacts that she had told the Corporal she had in the first place, people eager to seek her counsel, eager to speak to one who had the Herald's ear.

She went from Natalya the outsider, the bastard bard, to Natalya the Disciple, the Holy Sister of the Herald of Andraste. Many offered what they could spare, so that they could receive her blessing, a blessing that she would pass on to her most holy brother.

She spoke of Nicholai's strength, and how under **his** leadership, they would seal the breach and restore peace and prosperity to Thedas.

Everything was going so well too…it was only a matter of time until a problem arouse.

Someone of course, eventually, told Seeker Cassandra what she was doing.

The Nevarran was not pleased. She took the bard out of the settlement, just far enough that they could speak privately.

Once there, the Seeker vented her rage.

"What do you think you are doing?" she demanded.

Natalya merely smiled.

"I am giving the poor and downtrodden hope," she replied.

"You **are** feathering your own nest," Cassandra growled, "Using your relationship to the Herald to profit from our calling."

The bard frowned at her accusation.

"The people need to know of the Herald's deeds," she said, "And besides, it is not like I'm keeping the goods I receive, the bulk go to the refugees, and what doesn't is used to bribe the merchants and guards we need to keep the Crossroads stable."

The Seeker frowned, clearly not pleased with Natalya's answer. She turned as if leave, but spun quickly drawing her blade, Natalya back pedaled but still ended up pinned against a tree, Cassandra's blade at her throat.

To her benefit, Lady Song managed not to squeal with fear or shock. She was pinned; even swallowing did not seem like a good idea at that moment.

Cassandra glared at her.

"I will **not** permit you to corrupt what we are doing here," she spat.

Natalya coughed and motioned for Cassandra to look down.

"You're…you're fast," she purred.

Lady Pentaghast looked down. Natalya had a fine silverite bladed stiletto aimed at the vulnerable spot right beneath her breast plate. If the bard slammed it in, it would be a killing wound.

She glared at the herald's sister, who only smirked back.

"But **I'm** fast too," she finished.

They remained that way for ten seconds, twenty seconds, thirty…

Finally, the Seeker spat and released her, clearly delaying their confrontation, at least for now.

Natalya breathed a sigh of relief as she slipped her blade back into its sheath.

This was not how she would have liked this to go.

She did her best to diffuse the situation.

"I'm _ **not** _ here to corrupt the Inquisition," she said, "I'm here to protect my brother. He is a lone mage surrounded by enemies that either want to murder him for being a heretic, or make him Tranquil to shut him up. By swelling his legend I bring more and more of the faithful to his side, to **our** side."

She glared coldly at the Nevarran.

"I love my brother, and I will protect him."

Cassandra snorted; clearly she did not believe the bard.

Natalya gave her a venomous look.

"I **will** protect my brother," she repeated…

"I would not expect someone like you to understand that."

For a moment a pained expression passed over the Seeker, it was quick, but it was there. It was clear that Natalya had scored a hit.

The Seeker shook her head.

"I am watching you Lady Song," she said, "At the first hint of treachery, I will end you, never forget that."

Natalya almost laughed.

"And I am watching you, Seeker. Try to keep my brother safe, if you don't…well…"

She lightly tapped the daggers on her belt.

"Let us just say, that that would be a very interesting day."

The Seeker left her then, shaking her head in frustration.

Natalya smirked.

It would be a very interesting day indeed.

IOI

Natalya knew that Cassandra was likely behind her new assignment. It made sense of course, getting her rival out of the way. Nicholai might believe her if she told him about what happened in the Hinterlands, but…

What if he didn't?

What if he tried to send her away? Not to Denerim, but from his side all together?

She frowned.

Perhaps it was best not to rock the boat.

There was nothing to be gained by flinging accusations around, she would probe the problem, find its weaknesses, and strike hard when she knew it was time. She and the Seeker were on a collision course, it was only a matter of time now.

She would need to make sure when the time came that she would be the one holding the trumps.

Still...it never hurt to probe the situation.

She would have to handle this…delicately.

IOI

She gave Nicholai a hurt look, one he would have recognized from when they were children.

It had gotten her what she wanted in the past.

"Have I failed you in some way brother," she purred, "Why would you want to send me away?"

Nicholai Trevelyan shook his head no. Still she pushed forward, a pouty look on her face. Natalya was pleased to see that he had taken her advice since their return from the Hinterlands. He finally looked something like the brother she remembered from their more innocent times back in Ostwick. He had both shaved and bathed, his blonde hair had been trimmed and he once again wore clean robes, robes that spoke of his place not only as a mage, but a member of the noble house of Trevelyan.

It made her feel…well…like they were themselves again, at least for this one small moment. She had missed him, missed his smiles and kind words. She had never been able to fool her brother, not when he did not want to be fooled; he always knew when she was up to something. You could tell by the look on his face.

She smiled slightly

He was giving her that knowing look now.

She let go of her pout, even as he gave her an amusement smirk.

"Tell me sister, does that _still_ work on people?" he asked.

She blushed slightly.

"Usually," she confessed.

Nicholai shook his head; a hint of a smile came to his lips.

It was a small thing, but that look put her mind at ease.

At least she had managed to amuse him.

That was at least a small victory anyway.

He must have recognized the fact that he had won a small victory, rather than celebrate, he chose to try and repair her pride.

"You have not failed me, or the cause," he said, "but as we expand our reach deeper into Ferelden, we are going to need more allies than we have right now. The nobles need to be assured of our good intentions."

"And you think I can get their support?"

"I know how charming you can be," he said.

A pair of Chantry sisters passed them by, they held their tongues until they thought they were out of earshot.

Natalya could hear them giggling to themselves, often she would sit in Flissa' tavern at night, listening to the various scouts and soldiers drifting back to Haven. More than a few had been young women, and more than a few had spoken of her brother with…interest. It was not surprising.

Beautiful women had always been fascinated with her brother.

To be honest, she had always been surprised some pampered noble daughter in Ostwick had not come to see the Bann, confessing that his mage son had gotten her in a family way. She was not sure how Bann Pieter would have dealt with such an occurrence, though she feared it would have fallen to her to deal with the aftermath. Cleaning up messes was often her stock in trade.

She smiled to herself.

If Anora MacTir was still on Ferelden's throne, it would have been easy for her brother to sway her to their cause. Even after a decade of rule, King Alistair was still a bit of an unknown commodity. He was a war hero yes, but still a bit of an enigma among his noble peers.

Natalya began to think of the ways that she might be able to gain his ear. He was far more…conservative than most nobles she had met.

She and her brother resumed walking.

"I take it that I will not be making this journey alone?" she inquired.

"Ambassador Montilyet has assigned you a small staff to assist you while you are in the capital. Leliana had also assigned an agent to handle your protection. Commander Cullen assures me that you will have two of his best men as honor guard…"

"And what does Seeker Pentaghast think of all of this?"

He frowned at her; his face became far harder than it should have been.

"Please don't speak ill of the Seeker, sister."

"I'm not," she said, "I didn't say anything."

"It was in your tone," he said with a sigh.

Nicholai shook his head.

"We need to stay on the Seeker's good side. She is not just a hero, but all the men respect her. I know you like to be queen bee when you get involved in something, but a little respect for Cassandra's station would be wise."

She nodded, though she could not really promise anything.

She would do what she could to keep the other woman happy, but from what she had seen Cassandra Pentaghast what not one to fall for idle flattery.

Hmm, Lady Song thought.

 _Why was her brother so concerned that she get along with the Seeker?_

She did not press him on the subject, and it seemed for now, the matter was closed. Though he did answer her original question:

"Cass…the Seeker is…fine with it. She is accompanying me to Val Royeaux. Revered Mother Hevara, the defacto leader of the chantry has granted us an audience, hopefully we can convince the chantry to support us, or baring that, not openly work against us."

"Will you be travelling alone, just the two of you?"

"No," he said quickly, far too quickly.

His answer made Natalya pause.

Nicholai tried quickly to recover.

"Varric and Solas will also be making the journey, the Mothers may have questions about the Hinterlands, they will make excellent witnesses, they…"

He stopped.

Natalya gave him the look. The "What is going on," look.

It was the same look their father had given them when they were children, when he knew that they were up to something.

Nicholai blushed.

That set off all her hunter's instinct, the predator was aroused.

She had spent much of her life looking for weakness in others, weaknesses she could exploit later.

She thought she had found one in her brother, even though she did not like it.

The advantage of her going to see him in the circle all those times past was that she knew many of his tells. She knew when something was bothering him.

Her mind flashed back to an incident several years ago, shortly after he had passed his Harrowing. At the time, he had been mooning over Ser Angela, a young Templar who had just transferred from Starkhaven…he…much of what she was seeing now; it reminded her of that incident.

It took her a second to figure out why, but slowly the pieces fell into place.

Why had he jumped so quick to the Seeker's defense?

Why was he so uncomfortable about travelling alone with the Seeker? Sure she had captured him before the attempt to close the breach, but…but…

The last piece fell into place.

She…she…

Oh Maker!

Her cat like eyes widened.

"Oh brother," she mouthed, "Please don't tell me…?"

"Nothing," he said, "It is nothing."

He hurried on, almost leaving her behind.

She rushed to catch up.

She tried to think of something to say, something to…to…get him thinking about something else, anything but what their conversation had revealed.

She almost whimpered.

 _Oh Brother, why?_

Of all the people that he could have felt some flare of attraction for, of all the many women who now wandered the streets of Haven…

 _Why…oh Maker why?!_

 _Why_ _ **her?**_

She was a Pentaghast of course, a hero; she herself knew the passions of the storied Nevarran family. Her own Oliver had sprung from the branches of that tree, but still…the Seeker?! She…she was…she was just.

Ugh!

The woman was just so…so… _ **mannish**_! Part of her doubted that there really was a woman underneath all that plate and chantry dogma.

Natalya Song shook her head.

Nicholai had always liked strong women; he saw them as an interesting pursuit, not simply a distraction to fill his idle time, but this…this…

The bard did not like it.

She and Cassandra both had ideas of how the future was going to go. One day those mutual dreams might bring them into open conflict. She…she had no wish to see her brother caught in the crossfire. He was too valuable.

 _You can't do anything about this now,_ her conscience chided, _be patient, **wait** ; there would be a better time to deal with the Nevarran._

She rolled her eyes.

 _Andraste give me strength_ , she thought.

The sad fact of the matter was, she and Cassandra were much alike, both were willing to fight and kill for things they believed in, in another world they might have been friends, but here…here…

Her eyes narrowed.

Here, they were destined to be rivals.

The destruction of the Conclave, the murder of the Divine that had closed one door for her, Nicholai and the Inquisition had opened another. Her plans were already beginning to take shape.

She would be damned if the Seeker stood in her way.

Her smile returned, but this time it was a mask, something to keep Nicholai reassured.

"I will be ready to go before nightfall, brother," she promised.

He gave her an arched look, but obviously did not see anything wrong. She was just being dutiful, or so he thought.

That was a good thing.

This was not what she had wanted, still...there was value in this trip. She would be the good little soldier, she would go to Denerim, speak to the nobles, and wave the Inquisition flag, but while there, she would be freer to move than she had ever been here.

There she would be able to come up with a plan, either to bring the Seeker over to her side, or to neutralize her as a threat.

How far she would need to go to accomplish that neutralization remained to be seen...one thing was certain…

There would be a time than she and Cassandra Pentaghast would settle their differences. She would not let the woman harm her brother, or the plans she had for their future. She would not permit the chantry sow to use her wiles to turn her brother down a self-destructive path.

She would do what she needed to do.

If a little blood had to be shed, then…so be it.

Natalya was not afraid of such things.

Blood was not a bad thing, it was often necessary, and besides.

Her eyes twinkled with cruel amusement.

 _Blood_ _ **built**_ _character._


	23. Orlais (part 1)

**Chapter 23: Orlais (part 1)**

Nicholai Trevelyan's round-about journey to Val Royeaux was not quite what he had expected.

The Inquisition could have taken the mountain route into Orlais proper, but the fighting in the Dales prevented any easy path to the capital. The Orlesian Civil War continued to rage despite the destruction of the Conclave, and the appearance of the Breach. The battle for the Orlesian throne continued, despite the fears of many that the world was coming to an end. What this meant for the Inquisition is that any land route into the empire was out, Nicholai, Cassandra, Varric, and Solas needed to take ship and sail along an indirect route to Val Royeaux.

They met a small transport along the coast of Highever. The captain, an Inquisition loyalist who had taken Seeker Cassandra out of Kirkwall before the Conclave was more than happy to supply them safe passage, though he did warn them about the chance of being attacked by Orlesian ships. The Empire's Navy stood divided when it came to the throne, some captains supported the Grand Duke, while others remained loyal to the Empress.

Both Cassandra and Nicholai thought it worth the risk. They travelled under the written permission and protection of Mother Giselle and the chantry mothers who claimed to be open to a meeting. Even the ship's captain agreed that that should have been enough to keep them safe, still he intended to avoid any Orlesian warships that he spotted on the horizon.

The transport zigged and zagged along the Orlesian coast, careful not to draw too much attention. Nicholai found himself up on deck during one of their brief journeys close to shore.

What he saw horrified him.

They spotted several abandoned fishing villages, even from a distance they could see evidence of what had happened the buildings burnt and the ships sent to the bottom of the sea.

Cassandra came up behind him. The Seeker's eyes followed where the mage had been looking, seeing the destruction on the shore.

She shook her head.

"As if the mage Templar fighting was not bad enough," she said, The Empress and the Grand Duke do not seem to care who gets caught up in their war."

Trevelyan shuddered.

"What was the point, I wonder. What did the people in those villages do that made their homes a target?"

The Seeker shrugged.

"They might have been selling their goods to one of the opposing sides, or perhaps they were using their boats to ferry messages back and forth. Maybe they did nothing, maybe the commander of whatever army did this just felt justified in destruction."

Cassandra shook her head.

"War rarely makes sense."

Nicholai nodded, he had spent enough time fighting the mage rebellion to know the truth of that statement."

"I tried to keep my people under control," he admitted, "When we needed supplies, I would often send representatives into small villages. We implied what might happen if they did not give us what they could spare, yet we rarely had to act on such a threat. Most people were afraid of us, and looked for any way to avoid a conflict. Occasionally we would meet people who had sympathy for us, and would give freely, without even the threat of force."

Cassandra nodded.

"Your restraint is to be admired Herald," she said, "But what happened when you were openly refused? Did you attack those who sought to deny you?"

Nicholai's expression turned grim.

"I tried not to give the Templars an excuse to come down harder on us. We were never so desperate that we needed to raid for supplies, at least not until after the debacle in Tantervale. My people only used force to defend themselves, if a village sent out people to attack us, we responded in kind, but that did not mean we targeted innocents, not on purpose anyway."

Trevelyan chuckled mirthlessly.

"Kurtz accused me of taking the moral high ground far too often; he feared it would be the end of us."

Nicholai pounded his hand lightly on the deck rail of the ship.

"At least with the Inquisition we don't have to worry about that. With the exception of the rogue mages and Templars we have faced, most civilians look at us as friends already; there is no reason to scare them to get what we want. For the Inquisition the moral high ground is not just a choice, it is expected."

Trevelyan smiled slightly.

"At least we have something going for us."

He waited for Cassandra to respond, but she did not.

Nicholai glanced at the Seeker who was pinning him with that intense gaze of hers, she seemed to be doing more than looking at him, more like…looking through him.

It was a strange experience.

Finally, she looked away, her expression softer than any he had seen before.

"You…you are not what I expected," she admitted, "You are definitely not the person I thought you were when we had you imprisoned within the chantry."

Nicholai smiled slightly.

"I'm pleased that you have come to think so."

"I was looking for someone to blame, anyone."

She sighed heavily.

"I was wrong about you back then, perhaps I still am, but I still believe that you were sent here to help us."

Nicholai gave her an arched look.

"So you don't think that Andraste chose me?"

She pursed her lips in thought.

"The Maker's aid can take many forms."

She tilted her head slightly.

"Do you not believe that you were chosen, Herald?"

Nicholai shrugged.

"I…I can't say for sure. My memory of what happened at the Conclave, it still has not returned."

The Seeker's brow furrowed.

"Do you believe in the Maker then?"

Trevelyan rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

"I was raised a good Andrastian," he said.

"That does not answer the question."

"True," he shrugged, "I've seen a lot of chaos in the last year, more than my share, I think…."

Trevelyan sighed and shook his head.

"I **want** to believe, Seeker," he confessed, "I want to think that everything I've been through, is part of something more, something **better.**

The mage crossed his arms.

"I just wish that he would tell us what Andraste's flaming knickers is going on. It would be nice to have some answers."

Part of him expected her to be angry with him, she was a woman of great faith, and he did not wish to anger her.

She surprised him with a soft smile.

"Answers would be nice," she admitted, "I still believe that we were put on this path for a reason. Unfortunately, that reason will likely only be revealed to us when we reach the end of our journey…that is typically the Maker's will, from what I have seen anyway."

"You are probably right," he said, "Still some straight answers would have been appreciated.

She paused again, looking at him with that intense stare again.

"What?" he demanded.

"Perhaps he has given us an answer."

"Really? Where might that be pray tell?"

She gave him that small smile again and turned away.

"I think that I've been speaking with it," she said as she made her way back down below.

Trevelyan paused, not sure what to make of that. He tried to process that, what Cassandra had just said.

Was he meant to be the answer to all this chaos? Natalya might have said yes, if only to feather her own nest.

He…he was not so sure.

He looked back at the sea and sighed heavily.

"Great," he said dryly and to no one at all.

"Now I'm **really** depressed."

 **IOI**

The ship dropped them off a few miles from the capital. Cassandra thought it safer that they simply did not land in the Val Royeaux docks, just in case things went bad. Leliana's people had arrived before them, bringing with them fresh horses and supplies if they were needed.

As their little group mounted up and prepared for the short ride to the city. Nicholai could not help but notice the change from what they had seen to the east. Part of him had suspected to see signs of war, that the armies from either side had battered Val Royeaux and been pushed back. Yet, the land seemed peaceful; it was hard to believe that there was a civil war going on here. He could make out merchant's carts in the distance, and what he suspected was a company of patrolling guards.

Had one of the sides managed to secure the capital without a fight? It was possible he supposed. Val Royeaux's true source of protection had never been the empire's army; it had been the Templar garrison that was housed within the White Spire. The Spire had not simply been used to house the circle of magi here; it had also been the main seat of power for the Templar order.

Nicholai had always suspected that if the Templars ever felt they were going to lose the war with the mages, they would have retreated back to Val Royeaux. The White Spire would have been the perfect place to make a last stand, not that the mages had ever gotten the Templars into a position where they had to consider falling back here.

Trevelyan shook his head.

Chancellor Roderick had spent t the first few weeks of the Inquisition's existence trying to convince someone to take him to Val Royeaux to stand trial, now he was marching into the city freely. Mother Giselle had said that the mothers were willing to listen, but what would happen if that all went sliding down the privee.

He did not like the idea of trying to fight his way out of the grand cathedral, not with only his three companions for back up.

The group started down the road toward the capital. Nicholai tried to remain positive.

They were here to talk, that was all.

They were just here to talk.

IOI

They entered the city with little fanfare.

Few soldiers remained outside the city, if any. The bulk of the empire's forces were now engaged in the east, fighting for control of the Dales, or dealing with mobs of rioting peasants, or so Leliana's reports had said.

The city itself seemed quiet; Nicholai could hear the distant tolling bells from the Grand Cathedral. He tried to remember if it was a holiday or special religious event, but for the life of him he could not think of any.

Too many months on the road, he was lucky to know what day it was.

Cassandra took a deep breath as she led them over the bridge and into the city.

She cocked her head and listened to bells for a moment; then she sighed heavily.

"The city still mourns," she murmured softly.

Nicholai stared up at the white stone walls, the brightly colored banners floating in the breeze.

He found himself remembering something that his father had said years ago. Val Royeaux was not just another noisy busy city, it wanted to be the nosiest, busiest city in the world. The Orlesian ego would not allow their capital to be out done, they had to do everything to the extreme, even their mourning was meant to be louder than anyone else's.

He sighed.

Hopefully their words would not get lost in all the extra wailing, it would be nice to believe that they had not come all this way for nothing.

He spotted a pair of noble girl's heading out of the city, their masks and clothing seemed familiar to him, but he could not remember what house they likely hailed from, it had been a long time since he had needed to know all the noble houses in Thedas, or at the very least the important ones.

He smiled and nodded to the girl.

They gasped, took one look at him and rushed back into the city, one of them almost tripping over a loose cobble stone.

Varric rolled his eyes.

"Just a guess Seeker," he said looking up at Cassandra, "but I think everyone already knows who we are."

The Seeker hissed slightly.

"Your grasp of the obvious never ceases to amaze me Varric," she growled.

An Inquisition scout emerged from the shadows of a large marble statue, the young girl dropped to one knee as she came before them."

"Seeker Cassandra," she said with great reverence.

She looked up at Nicholai.

"My lord Herald," she whispered with a hint of awe in her voice.

Cassandra motioned for the girl to rise.

"You are one of Leliana' people," she said.

The girl nodded.

"What news do you bring?"

The scout took a deep breath before beginning; she looked more than a little worried.

"The chantry mothers have assembled, they are waiting for you in the center of the bazaar, along with a great many Templars."

That news stopped Nicholai cold, even Cassandra seemed surprised.

"There are Templars here?"

Again the girl nodded.

"Mother Hevara has said that they have come to the city to protect the people from…well…from the Inquisition."

Cassandra's eyes widened in shock.

"The chantry has reached out to the Templars, to protect the people…from…from _**us!?"**_

Normally Nicholai might have been amused at seeing the hard to shock Seeker so surprised, but the news of the Templars return was not good for the Inquisition.

Nicholai sighed.

He had to admit, it was a brilliant move.

One of the mothers had obvious gotten wind of their meeting and went running to the Templars. Offering up The Right Hand of the Divine and the Herald of Andraste would be quite the coup. Such a victory would be more than enough to get even the lowest level Revered Mother elected to the rank of Divine, and if she brought the Templars back into the fold, even better.

They had been played, he did not doubt that now, it was bad for them no question, but it was even worse for the Inquisition. The chantry and Templars stood together again, the Inquisition's support would likely evaporate, no matter the fact that the breach was still in the sky. The Chantry and Templars would bring the Faithful back, and that would be the death knell for the Inquisition.

He glanced over at Cassandra.

Now they had a decision to make, flee, or try to play the hand they had been dealt.

From the grim look on Cassandra's face, it was clear what move she preferred.

Varric shifted uncomfortably where he stood.

"You really think the Templars have returned to the chantry?" he asked with no small amount of worry in his voice…

"…To deal with us upstarts?"

Cassandra shook her head.

"I cannot imagine Lord Seeker Lucius ordering such an action, this is all very strange."

"Maybe they just want to deal with me," Nicholai frowned, ""The Templars were after me before all this began, maybe they feel that capturing the Herald of Andraste is worth returning to their duty."

Solas' eyes narrowed his elven ears twitched slightly.

"Perhaps it is better that we leave now, before the Templars have a chance to…meet with us."

Cassandra shook her head again.

"If we leave now we may never get another opportunity to face the mothers.

She sighed heavily, realizing no doubt how much danger they were in.

She turned to the scout.

"Send word back to Haven, they should know what happened here, just in case we are…delayed."

The scout bowed in submission.

"As you say Milady," she hurried off making her way down the bridge.

Nicholai frowned at the mention of being "delayed." He knew what that meant, especially when concerning the Templars.

He caught the Seeker's gaze, she nodded grimly.

He took a deep breath.

The woman was a gambler; he would say that for her. If this was a trap, they were in trouble, however if the chantry and Templars had aligned again, and the Mothers were willing to support them. A triple alliance between Templars, Chantry, and Inquisition would be almost unstoppable.

He straightened his robes, and mustered his courage.

Cassandra thought it was worth the risk, he was willing to trust her judgment.

Nicholai suppressed a smile.

The lady had balls, you had to give her that, but then again, what did one expect of a woman who had slain fire-breathing monsters.

"Well," he said dryly, "We came all this way, might as well see what awaits us."

He led them down the street and into the city.

Whatever was waiting for them, they would face it together.

Whatever the cost.

IOI

The Summer Bazaar was packed with people, nobles, merchants, and peasants had all gathered around a small stage set close by the entrance to the Orlesian docks. From its position, it was clear that the mothers had expected the Inquisition to land in the city proper and not outside of it. Whether or not this would work to the Inquisition's advantage, they would have to see.

Most of the citizens sneered as they passed. Nicholai caught snippets of conversations as they passed.

 _The Inquisition, we do not need such things in Val Royeaux._

 _The Templars will protect us as they always have; there is no need for an Inquisition._

 _It is all just a grab for power, you will see, the chantry will put these upstarts back in their place._

Trevelyan tried to ignore them. Part of him wanted to bring up the city of Tantervale, which was now more or less just a Templar military camp in the Free Marches, its leaders under house arrest or replaced by Templar loyalists.

That was how the Templars protected things, and if Val Royeaux was not careful, that is how they might end up too.

A lone chantry mother stood on the stage and flanked by several priests and protected by Templar bodyguards. The nobles parted quickly as they approached. Most likely recognized Cassandra's Seeker armor and the fact that Nicholai, Solas, and Varric all worn the emblem of the Inquisition in one way or the other left no doubt who they were.

The Mother noticed their approach, she smiled slightly, the kind of smile that a cat had when it had cornered a mouse.

"I recognize that one," Cassandra whispered to Nicholai, "That is Mother Hevara, she approved of our coming here."

He nodded his head.

At least they knew from which hand that the blade was about to fall.

The mother raised her arms and addressed the crowd.

" **People of Val Royeaux, hear me!"**

The crowd fell silent, allowing her to continue.

"Our Divine…is dead, her naïve and beautiful heart, silenced by treachery. No doubt you wonder what will become of her murderer…well…wonder no more."

Nicholai's eyes narrowed.

So much for their peaceful meeting with the mothers, he thought.

"Behold," the mother said pointing an accusing finger at him, "The so-called Herald of Andraste, the one who claims to rise where our beloved fell."

The crowd murmured angrily, several stared hatefully at the mage, if not for the presence of Cassandra, they might have tried to mob him right there.

Still Hevara continued.

"We say that this man is a false prophet! The Maker would send no mage to aid us in our hour of need!"

Trevelyan had heard enough, he had come here in good faith.

Now at seems that they had wasted their time.

He had hoped for a nice quiet meeting within the Grand Cathedral, a chance to plead their case before the surviving clerics. He had counted on the roguish charm that had served him well in Ostwick to help convince those mothers on the fence that the Inquisition was not a monster to be feared.

Mother Hevara had turned this meeting into show trial, to try to peacock before the mob so that others would think she held greater power.

He would not stand for it.

He used a minor spell to boost his voice; he wanted to make sure that everyone heard him.

"I never claimed divinity," he shouted, "I am here as an agent of the Inquisition, who only seeks to gather allies and seal the breach, the one true enemy that threatens us all."

"It is true," Cassandra added stepping up beside him, "The breach threatens us all, we must see to its closure before it is too late."

Mother Hevara sneered at them, and made a slashing motion with her hand.

From several shops to the right of the crowd, Templars appeared; they emerged and formed up with military precision. In their center stood a man with dark graying hair, he wore the armor of a simple Templar soldier, but given how the others formed up like guards, it was clear that he was more than that.

At Trevelyan's side, Cassandra gasped.

"Lord Seeker Lucius," she murmured, "He is here."

Nicholai Trevelyan's eyes narrowed.

Lord Seeker Lucius.

He knew who the man was of course. He had taken over the Seekers and the Templars following the death of Lord Seeker Lambert Van Reeves. Most of the mages had believed the man more a figure head than an actual leader. The chaos following the death of his predecessor was enough to show that.

It seemed from the way the Templars were now treating him; that something had changed.

The man had a cruel sneer on his face as the crowd parted before him, allowing him to ascend to the stage.

Nicholai glared at him, not willing to give an inch.

They might be in trouble, but he refused to give the man any satisfaction. He would not beg or try to run, and he would be damn sure to take at least a few of these pious bastards with him if it came to that.

"It is already too late," Hevara said quickly, "The Templars have returned to the chantry, they will face this Inquisition, and the people will be safe once more."

The Lord Seeker barely acknowledged her as he passed, though he did nod to one of Mother Hevara's bodyguards.

The man did not say a word.

He took a step back and punched the Revered mother in the jaw; the heavy gauntlet sent at least one tooth flying out of her mouth.

She fell with barely a squeak.

The crowd's reaction was silence; you could have heard a pin drop.

Nicholai gave the Lord Seeker an arched look.

So the Templars had returned to the chantry, he thought.

So much for that idea.


	24. Orlais (part 2)

**Chapter 24: Orlais (part 2)**

Nicholai Trevelyan never really considered himself a pious man. He had sung the chant, and tried to live a good life, but after seeing what the Templars had done, both in the Circles and since the rebellion began, he would never again claim he was a servant of the faith.

Yet, even he, despite his own personal feelings was more than a bit horrified when he watched the Lord Seeker's crony bloody the face of Mother Hevara. The woman had tried to trap him and his cohorts, that was true, but the simple brutality of it, like a man swatting a fly shocked him, and he was not the only one.

Both the crowd and her Templar bodyguards also stood in shock.

Several of the guards tensed, not sure what to do, only then did Lord Seeker Lucius take the reins and reveal what was truly going on.

"Calm yourselves," he informed his troops, "She is beneath us."

Trevelyan, as was his way, tried to gain a bit of control of the situation, he kept his face bland, despite the desire to send a fireball into the arrogant Templar lord's face. He tried not to think of all those he had known that had fallen in the mage rebellion, the friends he lost outside of Starkhaven and Tantervale, he tried not to think of Gillian, her body, obliterated in the Temple of Sacred Ashes.

When he spoke it was with both a hint of venom and sarcasm.

"Not here for us, I take it?"

The Lord Seeker sneered down at him.

"As if you were worth our trouble," the man said arrogantly.

Nicholai arched an eyebrow.

 _Strange_ , he thought.

He had heard from others that Lucius Korrin was nothing more than a milksop, a good natured figure-head the Lord Seeker's advisors liked to trot out and make speeches of how the order continued to do the Maker's work.

That was not the man that faced them today. The man practically oozed cruel arrogance and power, the sneer on his face promised neither mercy nor compromise.

Cassandra stepped forward; surely the Right Hand of the Divine would be enough to speak with the man who now led the Templars.

"Lord Seeker Lucius," she said, "We have come to…"

"You will not address me," the man said with an intense frown.

The look on his face stopped Cassandra cold.

"Lord Seeker," she murmured.

The Lord Seeker continued on.

"Forming a heretical movement, raising up a puppet as Andraste's champion, you should be ashamed."

He turned to all, priest, agents of the Inquisition and his own Templars.

" _YOU SHOULD ALL BE ASHAMED!"_

Nicholai's mouth became a grim line. This encounter was not going as he had expected. The Lord Seeker did not even seem interested the Inquisition, nor the breach. He only seemed to care about his own grandstanding, once again, not the type of man that Trevelyan had heard he was.

 _Strange._

"The Templars betrayed no one when we left to purge the mages," Lucius continued, "The chantry thought to reclaim us, to steal our place in the world. They were fools, there is only one destiny that matters here, and that destiny is **mine!** "

The fervor that the man spoke with surprised Trevelyan.

"Even now we are building our force into a power that will stand against the void, we deserve recognition. **Independence!** "

Nicholai decided to turn this rant into something useful, or at the very least try to.

"What we need is an alliance against the breach," he called out,

The Lord Seeker laughed at that.

"The breach is a threat, mage," he snarled, "But you can do nothing to close it."

It was then that one of the Templars stepped forward, a young man, likely only knighted before all this chaos began.

"But…Lord Seeker," the young man said, "What if this man was sent by the Maker. Surely we should…"

The Lord of the Templars stopped the man with a single icy glare. A Templar scribe who had accompanied Lucius spoke up, clearly the man thought it beneath him to explain himself to one of his soldiers.

"You are called to a higher purpose, do not question."

"Your Inquisition is nothing," the Lord Seeker continued speaking to Trevelyan, "And you…worse than nothing. As I have said, we deserve recognition, independence, and that is what we shall have."

One by one the Templars saluted the Lord Seeker, they did not cheer, but it was clear from the fervor on their faces that they agreed with what he was saying, that they accepted what he was offering.

He looked once more over the people that had gathered to see him arrest the agents of the Inquisition the look of disdain on his face showed how he felt about them, and how much he cared about their protection.

"Templars," he called out, "Val Royeaux is no longer worthy of our protection! **We march!"**

Without another word, the Lord Seeker turned from crowd and led his people down the steps and towards the exit of the bazaar. The people parted before the Templars, murmurs of shock and disbelief running through the crowd.

Nicholai Trevelyan stood by the stage and watched them pass. He was silent, but not with shock or disbelief.

The son of Bann Pieter Trevelyan was thinking.

What he had seen here today made no sense!

Before he had been taken to the Circle, he had spent his first eleven years being educated in how to rule, and the power of symbols of rule. Val Royeaux was such a symbol, yet the Lord Seeker was acting like it did not matter, that the city itself was beneath him.

If that is truly what the man thought than he was a fool.

Val Royeaux, the Grand Cathedral, even the White Spire were the strongest symbols of the faith. If the Templars were forming a new empire, they could have used those symbols, wrapped themselves in the cloak of righteousness, and relaunched their war with an even greater fervor.

They could have brought mother Hevara and her fellow mothers to their knees picked a weak-willed Divine to act as their mouth piece and ruled through her as a figure-head; that was the smart thing to do.

By walking away from the city, Val Royeaux would no doubt be thrown into chaos, the Empress and the nobles were still caught up in their civil war. If Val Royeaux was left unoccupied, chaos would spread.

Surely there were people close to Lucius Korrin to inform him of that. Yet, the man still chose to leave…why?

It made no sense.

The Templars leaving would send the people and the priests seeking something new to believe in. Surely the Lord Seeker realized that, the only question was…what?

If not the chantry or the Templars, what would the people of Thedas flock to? What did the Lord Seeker wish them to start believing in?

Nicholai took a deep breath, tried his best to focus.

Whatever the Lord Seeker had planned he would not let it play out. The Templars had made a grand mistake, and, as a warrior, he knew how best to capitalize on it.

Nicholai would not give the people time to seek out something to believe in, he would offer it to them, here and now.

He would offer them the Inquisition, and they would accept it.

He looked over at his companions. Solas' expression remained guarded, the apostate clearly evaluating what he had seen. Cassandra looked like she was still in shock, likely could not believe that her fellow Seeker would not even let her speak to him.

Varric shook his head and snorted with amusement.

"Charming fellow, the Lord Seeker," he said.

Cassandra, hearing Varric's words, finally snapped out of her shock.

"Has Lord Seeker Lucius gone mad?" she murmured.

"Did you know him well?" Nicholai asked.

"He took over the Seekers almost two years ago, following Lambert Van Reeves death. He was always a decent man, not given to posturing or grand standing."

She shook her head.

"This is very strange," she admitted.

Trevelyan frowned.

"I guess we can forget getting Templar aid against the breach."

"I would not write the order off just yet," Cassandra said, "Surely there are those that will see what the Lord Seeker has become, surely they will not agree."

The Right Hand of the Divine sighed.

"We should return to Haven," She said, "the others will need to be informed of what happened here."

"Not just yet," Trevelyan said.

He leaned in close so that only Cassandra could hear him.

"We can't afford to let Val Royeaux slip into chaos. We need to get as many Inquisition troops here as we can."

Cassandra's eyes widened.

"We do **not** have the numbers to occupy Val Royeaux," she reminded him.

"We don't have to occupy it; we just need to establish a presence."

Nicholai smiled slightly.

If the Templars had abandoned Val Royeaux at the height of the rebellion, he would have marched as many mages as he had and entered the city. He would have offered his people's service to the nobles and the royal court. Once the city guard and nobles realized that the new arrivals were not a threat, and that they were not going to sack the city, they would embrace the opportunity to restore order, or at the very least to prevent the city from burning itself down during the riots that were sure to take place.

Symbols were important; Bann Pieter had taught his eldest son that. The Templars had just handed Val Royeaux to the Inquisition.

It was an opportunity he did not intend to waste.

Cassandra nodded.

"Leliana's people have been recruiting here," she said, "But, as I said, we do not have the numbers to hold the city if it comes to that."

Nicholai glanced over at the wounded Mother Hevara, her fellow priests trying to attend her, one of the lay sisters at her side had fallen to her knees and was weeping with fear, even as her hand were raised in prayer.

"We won't need to worry about that," he said.

He approached Mother Hevara.

The crowd was starting to disperse; shock was working in their favor. He noticed another Inquisition scout emerge from the shadows, one of Leliana's people no doubt, Cassandra summoned the girl over and whispered Nicholai's suggestion, the girl nodded and ran off. Hopefully she would be able to fulfill what they needed.

Nicholai did his best to hide his excitement.

 _Thank you, Lord Seeker_ , he thought.

 _You just handed us Val Royeaux on a silver platter._

The priests around Mother Hevara looked upon the approaching mage with panic, one even squealed in terror.

Nicholai raised his hands in submission.

"I know healing spells," he said in his most soothing voice, "Let me help."

The mother glanced up at him; she nodded, sending droplets of blood from her clearly broken nose.

Nicholai kneeled down and gently touched the woman's face; his fingers glowed with blue fire. The woman's jaw was broken, but his magic took care of that, her nose too, it would be bruised and swollen for a few days, but that would heal much faster than a break.

Cassandra stood over them; she looked down at Mother Hevara with a look of pure disdain.

The priest coughed and shook her head.

"This must please you greatly Seeker Cassandra," Mother Hevara mumbled.

The Right hand of the Divine snorted and crossed her arms over her chest.

"We came here to speak with the mothers, what has happened is not our folly but yours."

"Now Cassandra," Nicholai clucked, "Let us not be petty."

The Seeker gave him an arched look.

"They were going to have you arrested Herald," she reminded him.

"And yet, here we are," Nicholai said giving her his most roguish grin.

He turned to Mother Hevara, his expression turning much more serious.

"I think it is time we talked."

IOI

Nicholai was neither arrogant nor cruel in his treatment of Mother Hevara. He recognized that things would go much more smoothly with chantry aid rather than condemnation. The Mother would not openly support the Inquisition, but she promised not to interfere in their attempt to establish a presence in the city. A small Inquisition force would remain in the Grand Cathedral, to support and watch the few Templars who remained loyal to the mothers.

As for the people Nicholai found that not all in Val Royeaux had wished to see them dealt with. A food merchant named Belle offered to start sending supplies to Haven, an offer that Nicholai had readily accepted, as more of the Faithful flocked to their banner they would need supplies.

He was also approached by a messenger bearing the sigil of the Circle. The sight surprised Trevelyan.

He was not aware that the Circle still existed.

The letter turned out to be an invitation to a salon two days hence, the host, Madame Vivienne, First Enchanter of Montsimmard, and Enchantress to the Imperial Court.

Nicholai was surprised.

He had heard of First Enchanter Vivienne of course, though they had never met. She had been a good friend to his mentor Senior Enchanter Lydia of Ostwick.

He had responded in the positive to the invitation, he would gladly attend.

When they turned to find lodgings for the night, an arrow was fired a short distance from Nicholai's feet. He started to draw his staff, fearing an assassination attempt, but when no other arrows fell, he went to investigate.

A small letter was wrapped around the shaft, the lettering was blocky and surrounded by doodles. It warned of a threat to his life, and that if he went seeking red scarfs in the market's upper levels, the docks, and the nearest tavern he would find what he needed to survive it.

The letter was signed: from the Friends of Red Jenny.

Nicholai's brow furrowed.

He had heard of the Friends of course. The nobles of Ostwick had had dealings with them in the past, most thought of them as anarchists, their acts going from the mischievous to the downright treasonous.

Yet, the Red Jennies had some power; they had found their way into supposed secure locations in the past. He was willing to see where this went, for curiosities sake if nothing else.

The Herald of Andraste chuckled.

Val Royeaux was turning out to be a place of many surprises, the Friends of Red Jenny, the Enchantress of the Imperial court…and as it turned out, one other surprise.

As they left the market, a cultured Orlesian voice called out to them.

"Herald of Andraste, may I have a moment of your time."

Nicholai turned, his eyes widened at the sight.

A small statured, mature elven woman stood before them. She was dressed in simple robes of the circle, a staff with a glowing crystalline ball on tip in her right hand. Her short dark hair, grayed by time, did little to hide the presence of the woman.

Nicholai had never met her socially, but he had seen her address the college of magi in Cumberland several times, so he knew immediately who she was, as did Cassandra.

"Grand Enchanter Fiona," she said with no small amount of surprise.

"The Leader of the Mage Rebellion," Solas added, "Is it not dangerous for you to be here?"

The elf's ears twitched with amusement.

"It was a risk yes," she agreed, "But I needed to see the so-called Herald of Andraste with my own eyes."

Nicholai chuckled.

"So," he said dryly, "What do you think?"

If she felt any further amusement she did not show it.

"I think that I have seen enough," she said, "Both of you and the chantry, enough to decide that you maybe more than what rumor has said."

The Grand Enchanter stood a little straighter.

"If it is help you need with the breach, perhaps you should have come to your fellow mages first."

"I might have," Trevelyan answered, "But I wasn't sure who to speak with. I fear that we had lost you along with the rest of the mage leadership at the Conclave."

"Yes," Cassandra said suspiciously, "You were supposed to be in attendance, but somehow you survived."

"As did the Lord Seeker, you will note." Fiona reminded them.

Fiona shook her head.

"We both sent representatives, just in case the Conclave turned out to be a trap. I will not say that I am not glad to still be alive, though I did lose many good friends that day."

Nicholai's expression hardened.

He thought of Gillian. That thought alone was enough to harden his heart.

"You were not the only one Grand Enchanter."

Fiona sighed.

"Regardless," she said, "We should not let Lucius get away with what happened at the Conclave, too many good people died."

"You are saying that you think the Templars are to blame for the Conclave?" Varric asked.

"Why wouldn't she?" Cassandra inquired.

"Lucius hardly seems broken up over his losses, if he cares about them at all," Fiona said, "After seeing him today; do you truly think he is above murdering the Divine, just to turn people against us?"

She pinned Cassandra with a cool glare.

"So yes, I think _**he**_ did it, more than I think that you did it, anyway."

The Seeker did not respond. Yet Nicholai still raised a hand, stopping any possible angry retort.

He turned to the Grand Enchanter.

"Consider this an invitation to Redcliffe," she said, "You will see that the mages are much more valuable allies than any Templar.

She curtseyed slightly.

"Au revoir, My Lord Herald," she said.

Fiona moved into a shadowed alcove, there was a slight popping sound in the darkness, and then, she was gone.

Trevelyan paused, not really sure what to say.

The Templars had basically turned their backs, and now the mage rebellion extended a hand.

He did not have say which side he preferred. He had only taken up a sword during the rebellion to protect his fellows, to ensure that the mages had a future in Thedas, any kind of future.

If he had to say anything about this trip to Val Royeaux, is that it had not been boring.

His thoughts briefly drifted to his sister. Nat should have been set up in Denerim by now, provided that King Alistair and Queen Allegra accepted her presence.

He frowned slightly.

Song had said something about bringing in more allies when she left, what she intended he was not entirely sure.

All he hoped for was that she was safe.

Nat sometimes took chances.

For her sake, he thought.

He prayed that those chances were smart ones.

 **A/N: Next chapter Natalya in Denerim, and the introduction of new allies. Until then dear readers!**

 **DG**


	25. Family

**Chapter 25: Family**

"Good evening, Serah. Welcome to House Trevelyan."

Natalya smiled slightly, having grown up serving in the _**true**_ House Trevelyan in Ostwick; she had a very hard time taking this place seriously. Far from palace-like estate, the Ferelden seat of House Trevelyan was part warehouse and part merchant's dwelling, hardly a spot for true Trevelyan nobility, which was of course exactly what it was.

She had slipped into Denerim unnoticed; the bulk of her Inquisition escort remained outside the city, and would not officially arrive until tomorrow, when she would have her audience with the king.

Tonight, she had other matters to attend to, namely serving house, and putting her own plans in motion.

Denerim's House Trevelyan was just off the main docks of the city, not surprising considering that Lord Van Trevelyan had made the bulk of his wealth in trade. Even inside the building you could not escape the smell of the docks outside.

Binder the man assigned to watch her by Sister Leliana remained a few steps behind her, his hand never far from his dagger. He had been assigned to protect her of course, but also to report her movements back to his mistress, the Nightingale; it was a task she did not even try to deny. Sister Leliana was a skilled spymaster, and even if Natalya had tried to mask her movements it likely would not have worked.

Besides, if she succeeded this eve, all of the Inquisition would benefit, just as much as she would in the long run.

No, she had a healthy dose of both respect and fear for the Nightingale; she had no desire to cross her.

The perky little blonde that had met her at the entrance could not have been more Trevelyan had she tried. Her hair and eyes were the same color as Nicholai's, and her nose and mouth clearly marked her as having Trevelyan ancestry.

She was probably about eighteen or nineteen, which likely meant she was Lord Van's youngest, his daughter Rhaena, if her contacts were correct that was.

Being so late in the day, only one other person was present in the merchant's home, a young man, probably in his early twenties, sharing enough similarities to the girl to likely be an elder brother. He sat at a small table, servicing a suit of armor, dented in places, but clearly well-cared for.

The armor, she recognized from her travels, was clearly not made for war, it did not show the damage one would find on a knight's war suit, the damage suggested heavy impacts from a lance or weighted training sword. It was the kind of suit a tourney knight might wear.

Not a bodyguard then, she thought, perhaps Lord Van would be more open to her offer than she had thought.

"How may we help you today?" the girl who had met her at the door asked.

Natalya dropped into a curtsey.

"I am Natalya Song," she informed the girl, "Agent of the Inquisition, and I have come to speak with Lord Van."

The young girl's eyes widened, the boy paused in his work on a dented shoulder pauldron.

"Oh Maker," the girl almost squealed, "You are her! You are the one who serves the Herald of Andraste!"

Song tried not to look pleased.

It seems that her brother's name was not the only one getting passed along these days.

Good.

The girl was practically beaming at her; the young man had put down his armor, and was watching the exchange.

"I'm Rhaena, Rhaena Trevelyan," the girl said, "This is my brother Byron; we are most pleased to meet you Lady Song! We…"

" _ **RHAENA!"**_

The booming voice stopped the girl in her tracks, she jumped slightly; a small yelp escaped her throat.

She looked behind her sheepishly, towards an open door in the back.

"Yes Father?" she murmured.

"Do not let my brother's bastard be any later for her appointment than she already is."

Natalya frowned.

That, she realized, could only be Lord Van himself, younger brother of her father Bann Pieter, and…in the most basic sense of the word…her uncle.

Natalya frowned, not pleased with the lord's use of the word 'bastard.'

It was accurate, but that did not mean that she had to like it.

The girl stepped aside, her expression that of a cowed Mabari pup.

"You may enter Lady Song," she said shyly, "Maker go with you."

Natalya motioned for Binder to remain out here with Rhaena and her brother. She did not think that she had anything to fear of Lord Van. He had accepted her request for an audience, and had offered her his protection as host.

Hopefully, she thought, the Lord was not as…fickle…as Bann Pieter claimed he was.

Lord Van had left Ostwick many years ago to make his fortune. Hopefully he remained open to new opportunities. The Inquisition offered much for House Trevelyan, now they just needed to be brave enough to reach out and take what was there.

She had first suggested this meeting while working in the Hinterlands with Nicholai. It wouldn't hurt to have a few more Trevelyans in Haven. The Inquisition needed help, and by reaching out to the family, they would have access to agents that cared about Trevelyan advancement as much as she did.

When she had first mentioned meeting with Uncle Van to Nicholai, her brother had all but laughed at her.

"I thought you were trying to get back into our father's good graces, not piss him off more."

Natalya had winced.

"The family had wanted to bring uncle Van back into it for years," she reminded him, "This could be our chance to do that."

Nicholai had sighed then.

"Okay," he said, "I won't try to stop you, but you might want to reconsider this. Uncle Van is as stubborn as father is, and there is years of bad blood between them."

The mage gave her a worried look.

"You don't want to get on the bad side of either of them, Nat. Trust me on that."

She had promised him that she would consider his advice, but promised nothing. Now, while he was in Val Royeaux, trying to bring the mothers over to the Inquisition's side, she was here in Denerim, confronting the black sheep, or perhaps, black horse of the Trevelyan family.

Hopefully, she thought, he would be reasonable.

Hopefully.

IOI

Once upon a time, Van Trevelyan might have understood what they were trying to do.

According to the rumors she had heard growing up, Van Trevelyan had first fled to the sea to escape his duty as a Trevelyan. Traditionally, the third child of House Trevelyan was offered up to the chantry, so that the relationship that the family had always maintained with the servants of Andraste could continue.

Back then, the boy had been slated to join the Templars. Grandfather had already had his heir and his spare, so Van's destiny was set. The death of Bann Pieter's elder brother made grandfather think twice about sending the boy, but by that point it was too late.

Van Trevelyan had already decided that he was not going to obey. He fled to a merchant ship and never looked back.

Eventually he married the daughter of one of the captains he had served, and together, the two of them had built up the trading business that Natalya had heard so much about over the years. Their marriage was equally fruitful, with the girl giving him seven children, or so she had heard. Given the younger Trevelyan's success, one might have expected that the family would have forgiven his leaving, and invited him back, if only to share in the success that he had made for himself.

One simple fact prevented that return.

Van Trevelyan **had** not forgotten his family; he had been paying very close attention to what was going on in Ostwick, particularly what was happening with his elder brother. He was well aware of the fact that his elder brother only had a single heir to his name, Nicholai's younger brother Stefan. A mage could not inherit a title, and Natalya would have to be formally recognized if he wished for her to take up the title of Bann, which would likely never happen given the political climate in Ostwick.

So, Van Trevelyan had written to his brother with an offer.

He offered up his eldest son Braydon to serve as a spare heir.

If anything happened to Stefan, Braydon Trevelyan would return to Ostwick and take up the role of Bann when Bann Pieter passed. Van Trevelyan thought that a perfectly reasonable solution to a possible problem.

Bann Pieter disagreed.

He angrily wrote back to his brother, swearing by Andraste's pyre that he would never do such a thing. Ever since, that time, a war of words had raged between the two brothers, neither of them willing to give an inch on the matter.

Though Natalya did see her father's point, she recognized the fact that House Trevelyan did need to continue beyond her father. Perhaps he feared that if he let Cousin Braydon in, then his other brother might decide to harm Stefan in some way, to hasten his son's path to power. It was a reasonable fear, but if anything had happened to Stefan, she would have been the one to deal with the culprit, as she always had.

Now, here she was, walking into the presence of her uncle, hoping to gather Trevelyan reinforcements to help further the family's interests in the Inquisition. Father would never have approved, but at the same time she saw that she had little choice.

Things were moving too quickly to handle herself; she needed help to keep this cart from going off the road.

Her uncle would be able to aid her with that provided he looked beyond his issues with her father.

The Inquisition was a grand opportunity.

It would be a shame to waste it.

IOI

Her uncle's chambers were what one might expect from a man who had spent so much of his life at sea. Despite a few treasures that had likely been gathered in his travels the room was fairly empty, typical for a man who was always on the move.

Lord Van sat in a large worn out looking arm chair by the fire, his hands steepled before his face, his sea worn brow furrowed in deep thought.

She was about to approach when she realized that they were not alone.

A tall woman stepped out of the shadows, not blocking her path exactly, but clearly reminding her to go no further.

Natalya paused.

It seemed that his lordship was not so trusting after all.

The woman was at least six feet tall, and she was built like a warrior. She was beautiful in her way, but it was a harsh beauty her green eyes were cold and stern. Her blonde hair was neatly arranged into a series of braids that seemed more about function than fashion; the woman's hair was braided to keep it out of the way in battle nothing more. The green and yellow gambeson she wore bore no sigil, but around her neck was a small gold pendant, a pendant bearing the Horse sigil of House Trevelyan.

The woman carried no weapon, with the exception of a fine wooden staff, a single triangular shaped crystal mounted at the tip, a crystal that flickered with a soft blue light.

The sight stopped her in her tracks.

She had not expected to find a mage here; perhaps his lordship had taken up with the mage rebellion. It seemed unusual, but not impossible for the unpredictable man.

Lord Van did not even bother to turn around, but she thought she heard him chuckle.

"I always figured that my brother would send an assassin one day," he mused, before leaning back in his chair.

"Never figured that when that day came, she would come through my front door, asking to speak with me."

Natalya tried to smile, but kept one wary eye on the mage.

She curtseyed and tried to keep this meeting on track.

"Lord Van," she said respectfully, "Uncle…I am Natalya Song."

Again the older man chuckled.

"I know who you are girl, and I know what you do."

He stood up from the chair, like her father he was a very large man, over six feet tall, perhaps closer to seven.

Unlike her father, he looked as strong as one of this trading ships, a youth on the sea was not easily abandoned, his build suggested that he retained the strength of his youth, despite the many years since.

The mage at his side was only slightly shorter than him, her eyes never leaving Natalya's.

He placed a large hand on her shoulder.

"This is my daughter Evelyn, formally of the Ferelden Circle. I would advise you not try anything _foolish_ around her."

The old man gave her a nasty smile.

"She has harsh ways of dealing with people."

"I have not come here to harm anyone, my lord," Natalya said bowing her head, "I am here on behalf of the Inquisition, and of your nephew, the Herald of Andraste."

Lord Van snorted at her words snorted and turned away, taking his seat again by the fire.

"Yes," he hissed, "I heard mention of that, "My brother's golden boy got himself chosen by the Maker, now he thinks he is Andraste's prophet."

He shook his head.

"I seriously doubt the chantry shares that view. At this rate he will end up being burned as a heretic before the year is out."

Song tried very hard not to frown; this was not going the way she had hoped. Lord Van had a reason to be bitter, but she had hoped that he would be smart enough to understand what the Inquisition was doing, what a wondrous opportunity it offered for their family.

"I have come here with a proposal, Milord," she said pushing on, "I had hoped that you would at least consider it before dismissing me outright."

Lord Van snorted as he returned to staring into the flames.

"I'm listening girl," he said, "So far I'm not impressed."

Song pursed her lips. She fought down the urge to leave, if her uncle would not listen, there were bound to be other Trevelyans who would. Ambassador Montilyet had already offered to use her contacts to reach out to the family, but she had hoped to have some of the family on board before she went hunting allies in Ostwick. Bann Pieter would not be pleased after everything that had happened. She had hoped to have Uncle Van's compliance first, but if that was not possible…

Natalya shook her head.

No, she thought.

No, she would not abandon what she had come here for, not until she said her piece.

She would push on, despite what the bitter old bastard thought.

"Nicholai Trevelyan **is** the Herald," she informed him, "I have seen the breach in the sky, and the rifts that form in its wake. I have faced demons in the Hinterlands at his side, and I have seen him close those rifts with powers that are beyond any mage in Thedas."

"What sort of power?"

Natalya paused; the question had come not from her uncle but the mage at his side.

Evelyn Trevelyan's gaze bore into her cousin, as if trying to pull out the knowledge she sought.

"The power of the Maker of course," Natalya said, "The power given to him by Andraste as she saved him from the Conclave's destruction, as she helped him out of the fade."

The girl's father chuckled.

"Never thought my brother's assassin would turn religious fanatic," he sneered.

"It is not fanaticism Milord, it is loyalty."

She stood up a little straighter.

"Your nephew is, as we speak in Val Royeaux, gathering the support of the chantry. Once that is done we shall gather the support of the mages, the Templars or both. When that is done we will assault the breach, and with Nicholai's power we will seal it, and with that victory we will show all of Thedas that a new power has risen, a power that will reshape the very world around us."

Natalya smiled slyly.

"The Inquisition is growing," she said, "But we still need allies, men and women of vision. The rewards to such people will be great. The original Inquisition brought Thedas the Templar order and the Seekers of Truth. Men and women who wielded great power."

She paused letting her voice turn seductive.

"Why should our house be left out? We have been struggling for years to be greater, but I fear that we have reached the limit to what our friendship with the chantry can give us. Eventually a new arrangement will need to be made with the mages and Templars. The Inquisition is in the best position to decide what that arrangement will be. We should be a part of that Milord…

"House Trevelyan should be a part of that."

Lord Van said nothing he simply kept staring into the flames.

When he finally spoke it began with a sigh and a shake of his head.

"Thedas will never let what you desire come to pass girl," he said, "I've seen enough evidence of that in my travels. The lords and ladies of Thedas will rise up against and bind your Inquisition like a horse, either that or they will corrupt it, fill its ranks with people that suit their needs, not yours."

Lord Van snorted.

"I have my own sources girl. I have heard the news coming out of the Hinterlands. What are you all right now? What is your Inquisition? It is just a pack of washed up sisters and zealots hiding on a mountainside, you don't even have a proper leader. Once the shock wears off, no one is going to take you seriously."

He leaned forward.

"Without an Inquisitor, you are doomed to fail."

Natalya smiled slightly.

In that she and her uncle agreed.

An Inquisition should not be ruled by a council, it needed a singular vision.

It **needed** an Inquisitor.

It was one of the many points that House Trevelyan could help with, provided she found allies.

She knew who she preferred to take the job, now she just needed to convince others.

IOI

Lord Van listened to her offer, but was unwilling to commit, Natalya slipped out of his home after sunset, pulling her hood up over head.

"Milady?" Binder asked his expression curious.

Song sighed.

"I had hoped for more," she said shaking her head, "I suppose I should not be surprised though…my uncle has a business to protect, he has no desire to take chances that might upset his investors."

Natalya frowned deeply and turned away heading back down the docks.

"We should return to camp," She said, "I want to get some rest before we meet the king tomorrow."

"As you say Milady."

IOI

Had she looked back as she walked away she might have noticed two pairs of eyes watching from the window of Van Trevelyan's trading house.

Rhaena and Byron Trevelyan stood there, saying nothing to each other, but clearly both of the same mind. They had been listening closely to what passed between their father and their bastard cousin.

Both of them clearly had their own opinions on the matter.

The sound of footsteps behind them caused the two to turn, their older sister Evelyn stood there, her staff in hand; her grim expression unreadable.

The younger Trevelyans looked away clearly not wishing to speak their mind; their older sister had only just returned the family after spending much her early life in the Circle.

They did not know how she would react to what they were thinking.

Rhaena returned to her desk, she had many things to file for father before she retired. Byron went back to trying to repair his armor, it was his last suit, and tourney season would be starting soon, provided the breach and its rifts did not consume the world first.

The mage said nothing, her eyes narrowed as she thought of what she had heard.

When she spoke, it surprised both of her siblings.

"It was…a… _interesting_ proposition, our cousin offered us."

Both Byron and Rhaena looked at each other.

Rhaena's face broke into a wide sunny grin.

Their sister was right.

It was an interesting proposition.

It most definitely was.


	26. A Royal Greeting

**Chapter 26: A Royal Greeting**

"PRESENTING HER LADYSHIP, _NATALYA SONG_ , AGENT OF THE INQUISITION, AND HOLY SISTER OF NICHOLAI TREVELYAN, THE HERALD OF ANDRASTE!"

Natalya smiled. As far as introductions go, the herald at the door had hit all the right notes. She wanted every noble in Ferelden to realize just exactly who it was that was about to address them.

She strode into the throne room of the Palace of Denerim, a rather cold place, truth be told. She had hoped for some nice big braziers, giving off enough heat to warm her up appropriately from her long journey.

 _Or perhaps you should have not worn such a light gown_ , her conscience chided, _beauty is all well and good, but it will not protect you if you catch cold._

She ignored that thought. You only had one chance to making a good or _memorable_ first impression.

She did not intend to waste this chance.

From the balconies above and from the pillars around her; the Royal Court murmured as she passed. No doubt they had expected something… _different_ from the sight that was standing before them…something more…prudish.

The thought amused her.

Natalya was _many_ things…a prude she had _never_ been.

She let the two Inquisition soldiers accompanying her display the strength of their order, both were strong and stout. Binder, the young man that Sister Leliana had sent with her to act as her aid was here somewhere, already watching her back from behind the scenes. As for Natalya herself, she pushed back her travelling cloak and let the nobles get a look at…well… _the goods_ …so to speak.

She wore the symbols of both Andraste and the Inquisition on her cloak, the badge that held it around her neck bearing the mark of the eye and sword, but she realized that she needed something more as she began her life here in Denerim.

She needed to be _remembered,_ too make an impression; a good gown was an excellent start.

The green dress was one of her favorites, typically worn during the summer months. The greens of the fabric matched her large almond-shaped eyes. It was also cut very low in the front, and slit up the side to allow her legs freedom of movement. The belt she wore sat just so on her hips that the curves of her body were on display, many heads turned as she walked past, but that was to be expected. She had turned many heads in Ostwick with this gown; she knew the effect it had on people.

Her smile widened slightly.

It was never a bad idea to put someone off balance in the early stages of any negotiations. If the nobles were staring at her body, they weren't fully focused on her words. That fact could be most useful as the Inquisition, still in its infancy, moved forward.

Today, she was a stranger in a strange land, familiar, but strange. Fereldans were an insular people, a proud people.

She needed to win them over quickly. She needed to dazzle and seduce them all at the same time.

The Inquisition could not afford to have her come off simply as an ambitious foreigner.

She was not here as a Marcher. She was not here simply as a member of the Inquisition. She was here as the mouth of the Herald of Andraste, his eyes and ears…

Let any man or woman here try to question **that** authority.

She had to admit, she had been a little…annoyed that Nicholai had chosen to send her here, far from the action of the Inquisition leadership. She would have preferred to remain at his side, watching and waiting as her brother wove his way into the hearts and mind of the Faithful that continued to descend upon Haven. She had done her best work as she had toiled on the grounds of the Hinterlands, laying the stones upon which she would built **her** chantry… **her** legend.

The bard's eyes flashed with excitement.

 _It was not every day that a person got to write their name into history. She would not waste this opportunity; she would carve her name on the sodding stone for all future generations to see._

Natalya Song… _would_ be remembered.

She was _not_ Andraste. She had no desire to be Andraste. Nicholai was the holy hero, and he was welcome to that role. What most people did not realize is that Andraste had not done what she had done alone. It was like she had heard Mother Giselle tell Nicholai, Andraste had had advisors, generals, people she trusted…

…Nicholai trusted **her.** She would not let that trust go to waste. She would be more in the eyes of the faithful; she would be his disciple, his willing acolyte.

She would be known to all as his first and most loved servant, and from that post, she would rise higher than any could possibly believe.

Nothing would be beyond the Holy Sister of the Herald.

Nothing.

She almost laughed at the very thought.

 _The Holy Sister?_

What a _curious_ title.

She had not started the 'Holy Sister' thing; it had come from the unfortunates in the Hinterlands, those who her charity had most benefited. When Corporal Vale distributed goods to the needy, she was there. When the fearful needed to hear of the Herald, to inspire them to be more, Natalya had told them tales of his exploits. Embellished tales, of course, but it was like Varric said.

 _All good tales deserve a little embellishment._

She sang songs of the noble house Trevelyan. She told of the grand stock that the Herald had descended from. The fact that he had been touched by magic did little to kill his appeal to the common folk. If anything, it enhanced his mystique. The fact that her brother had been forced into the Circle as a young boy, and now returned to serve the faithful played well with the masses that had been displaced by the Mage Rebellion.

The fact that Andraste had chosen a mage to serve as her herald made sense to most people. Magic was to serve, never to rule, and wasn't that what the Inquisition was, servants restoring order?

Any power that they gained from their actions was merely a side effect of their good works. The people accepted it...

…While Natalya was determined to _revel_ in it.

The way she saw it, she had only one real enemy right now, a loose end that needed to be tied up before she could move forward.

From Denerim, she would be better suited to deal with that loose end.

She had tried to send a letter to her father, to explain the changing situation here in Ferelden. Bann Pieter had sent her here almost a year ago to… _remove_ his mage son.

That plan was no longer viable.

Natalya had never failed her father, when he had given her a target, she had eliminated it, but the situation here was far more…curious.

Could Natalya have killed Nicholai, sure, did she want to, no. Plus, it would not do to kill the Herald now, not with so many people depending on him.

Could she have finished the mission? Yes, but if she had, how would history have regarded her? The woman who murdered the Herald of Andraste? Even if Father **did** recognize her as his legitimate daughter she would never live long enough to enjoy her reward. The faithful would hunt her down, she would die slowly and painfully, and her name would be damned for the ages. Provided anyone survived the onslaught from the Breach of course. The name Natalya Song would become as reviled as Maferath, a name synonymous with traitor.

She could not do that to herself, she would not.

She hoped to make her father see that. How it was in his best interest to now stand fast with his mage son, and his new allies.

She needed him to trust her judgment.

The world was changing; they needed to change with it.

She needed to make him understand, even though that would not be easy. Trevelyans were an extremely stubborn stock.

She would have to be more than her charming self, she would have to be better, but that was for another day.

She bowed her head in submission as she approached the throne of Ferelden, the rulers of the country looked down on her from the dais. She dropped to one knee.

 _First she needed to tame the greatest of the Dog Lords._

 _Then it would be time to deal with her father._

"Your Majesties," she purred in her most submissive voice, "On behalf of my brother, the Herald of the Andraste, and the Inquisition, I thank you for granting me this audience."

She chanced glancing up; the two thrones were basically large wooden chairs with arms carved into the shapes of Mabari warhounds. Both rulers were dressed in crimson and royal purple.

Their faces remained unreadable, even to someone as skilled as Lady Song in reading people's moods.

Even though the Blight was a decade past, King Alistair still cut an impressive figure. He was broad shouldered, with his strong arms filling out the red silk tunic he wore. His dark blond hair stood up like blades beneath the circlet of his crown.

If he had been the least bit dazzled by her beauty, he did not show it. Of course, that might have something to do with the woman sitting next to him.

Natalya pursed her lips.

Queen Allegra was not as… _exotic_ as some of the rulers she had seen; she was pretty, but far from devastatingly beautiful. She was said to be soft spoken, yet fierce when angered. She had ruled Ferelden herself for almost a year some time back, and all the nobles had come to respect her. She had many of the traits that Natalya had come to identify as being synonymous with the Pentaghast line, her chin and eyes reminded the bard much of Cassandra Pentaghast of the Inquisition . There were some difference though; the queen's hair was so dark red it looked almost black, her nose and shoulders lightly dusted with freckles, likely from the time she had spent as a girl hunting in her native Nevarra. The princess had come here eight years ago, an arranged marriage brokered by King Markus and Chancellor Eamon of Redcliffe.

Little was known about their union, the king and the queen kept the rumors about them to a minimum, choosing to live and rule quietly. It was said that they had fallen in love early in their marriage and were now fiercely loyal to each other.

Natalya could respect that. It was not an easy thing, making an arranged marriage work.

The rulers of Ferelden seemed to have done just that.

She had expected the king to speak first that was protocol in most countries; of course Ferelden was not like most countries.

Queen Allegra spoke first.

"You seem… _under-dressed_ , Agent Song," she said in her clipped Nevarran accent, "Can I have one of the servants get you a shawl?"

Natalya laughed lightly.

"I appreciate your concern, Your Majesty," she said, "But fear not; we Marchers are a warm blooded people, much as your storied Pentaghast ancestors."

If the queen accepted her compliment, she did not let it show; she merely nodded and fell silent.

Cold fish, this one, Natalya thought to herself, apparently she only warmed for her king.

King Alistair seemed more…animated.

"You are not quite what we expected, Agent Song," he said, "When I hear the term…Sister, I do not think of someone who looks so…so…"

Queen Allegra gave her husband an arched look.

"Noble," he added with an amused smile, but not before gently touching his wife's hand.

The Queen smiled slightly, pleased at the slight yet visible show of affection.

"We all serve the Maker, Your Majesty," Natalya said, "As it says in the chant: From the lowest slave to the highest king."

She tried hard not to smirk at the quote.

"Andraste accepts **all** into her service."

 _ **"HERETIC!"**_

The angry pronouncement pulled Song up short, out of the crowd stepped a young woman in chantry robes. She glared fire at Natalya and her Inquisition escorts.

The bard said nothing.

After all, she had expected this.

"Your Majesties beware," the sister added, "This…harlot is a _daemon_ , a servant of a false-prophet, wishing to lead the faithful astray."

Natalya bowed her head to the priest.

"I am no _daemon_ , good sister," she began, "I came here under the auspice of the Inquisition, at the behest of the Inquisition's ruling council, a council that contains both the Right and Left Hands of the Divine."

She smiled predatorily.

"I have come on behalf of those that are actually **doing** something to aid those most affected by the Breach. We are helping the faithful. Not hiding in our temples and wringing our hands."

Her comment caused a bit of a stir, Natalya knew she needed to be careful. Some of the Ferelden nobles were worried that the Inquisition was going to steal their lands, use them to build a new empire.

She needed to tread carefully; she did not wish to wake the dragon.

"It is the acts of the Inquisition that concern us most, Agent Song."

She turned to see a man with reddish brown hair and a goatee. His tunic bore the symbol of Redcliffe…

Arl Teagan Guerin, she presumed.

"I've heard many disturbing things, Agent Song," the Arl continued, "I have heard rumors that your people are reaching out to the mages that have taken Redcliffe Castle, that you are seeking an alliance…?"

The man frowned.

"Is that true?"

Natalya licked her lips.

She needed to be careful.

"I do not sit on the Ruling Council, Your Grace," she said, "I know that the Inquisition is seeking allies to heal the breach, the mages could help with that, but then again…so could the Templars."

She smiled slightly.

"I'm sure the Council is speaking with both sides, weighing the options, and the risks."

"You would negotiate with Maleficarum and traitors!" the sister spat.

Natalya returned her gaze to her.

" _We_ are fighting a war, sister. We will take whatever allies we can find. More and more demons pour out of the fade rifts scattered throughout Thedas every day."

Song's face became solemn.

"The inquisition will do what it must to restore order."

"Whose order?" a noble from the balcony shouted, "Yours? The so-called Herald's?"

Natalya paused.

 _Be careful._

"Before the Conclave, my brother was a loyal member of the Circle of Magi. He sang the chant. He prayed to our Maker, and did everything that was expected of him as a Senior Enchanter…"

She took a deep breath.

"The upheaval between the mages and the Templars must end. Only fighting as a single people can we hope to the win the day, and bring peace back to our divided land."

The sister, who had first taken offense to her, scoffed at her words.

"And you expect the nobles of Ferelden to trust you?" she demanded, "We know who you are _Lady_ Song."

The priestess made sure to emphasize her title.

"The chantry in Ostwick recognized your name, and what kind of person you are."

Natalya shrugged, though part of her wished that she could shut the fool woman up, permanently.

Of course, that would likely not go over well with the king and queen.

No she needed to be patient.

Of course, if she gave the woman enough rope, she might just hang herself with it. Natalya simply had to play this just right.

"I cannot change the circumstances of my birth." She said.

"You are _nothing_ ," the priest spat, "there is nothing holy about you, you are a murderess, filth that kills for coin!"

"I served my family, my lord who I love, and who protected me."

"You are nothing but a bastard," the priest continued, "You should never have been born! You are…"

" _ **Ah-hem!"**_

The king cleared his voice quite loudly, so loudly in fact that the priest paused in her assault. Alistair's eyes had become cold and imperious; his wife gently touched his hand, offering him her support.

Natalya fought the urge to smile.

 _Bad move, sister,_ she thought…

 _Very, **very,** bad move._

Everyone was aware of King Alistair's… _parentage_. He had become a skilled and respected ruler over the years, but that did not mean that he had forgotten where he came from.

Like her, the king of Ferelden had been born on what some called…the wrong side of the blanket. His mother had been a serving girl in Redcliffe Castle, one that had caught lonely King Maric's eye, bereft of his wife and attempting to lead his kingdom alone.

If anyone thought calling her a bastard in King Alistair's presence would turn him against her, they were quite wrong.

"Agent Song," he said in a cool voice, "The southern nobles have many questions about your brother and the Inquisition. I'm willing to let you stay and answer those questions for the time being. You will be granted full ambassadorial status, and given the protection of the crown."

"Your Majesty," the sister gasped, "You cannot…"

Both Alistair and his queen glared down at the woman.

She wisely fell silent.

Alistair returned his attention to Natalya and her fellows.

"We will have tough questions for you Lady Song," he promised, "I hope you will have good answers."

Natalya bowed.

"I will answer whatever you desire," She promised.

"See that you do," Queen Allegra added, "The crown is rightly concerned. Your Inquisition has armed soldiers moving unchecked across our lands."

The Queen frowned.

"It would be a shame to have censor them."

Song knew a threat when she heard one, but did not respond. Alistair and Allegra had a reason to be concerned. The Inquisition was an outside armed force, a force that was moving unchecked on their lands.

They simply had to make sure that the king and Queen had no reason to think them enemies.

The king dismissed the court, and left quickly with his wife. Natalya's audience with him was over…for now.

Silently, Natalya cursed the chantry sister getting in her way. She had hoped to give King Alistair, Sister Leliana's regards…

…Her regards…and a request.

Song glanced around the room, seeking out a face that the spymaster had hoped for her to see, but suspected that she would not.

Lady Song frowned.

Sister Leliana had hoped that the current crisis would have been enough to draw the Hero of Ferelden back from where ever it was he was travelling. More a wandering mystic these days, than a warrior, Alim Surana had vanished from almost all avenues of public life.

The hero could have done much for the Inquisition; bringing him back to Haven would have been a feather in her cap.

Both King Alistair and Queen Allegra had counted the man among their closest friends.

He had stood with the king as he had said his vows. It was even rumored that he had had a hand in the king and queen first getting to know each other, helping them through those first few hard months, or so Sister Leliana had claimed.

She had hoped that one of them might know where the wandering warden had gone.

The bard sighed.

Sister Leliana had also claimed that she and the warden were lovers, that they had done their best to continue their relationship despite the powers that were always pulling them in different directions. That she intended to go and be with him once the Inquisition had run its course.

She found such a thing hard to believe. Sister Leliana was one of the coldest, most ruthless women she had ever met. The fact that she loved, that she warmed for anyone was…hard to believe.

Still…Sister Leliana had hoped that 'Her Dearest' would have made an appearance today.

That was apparently, not so.

She suspected that Leliana had hoped that Surana would join them, and take up the title of Inquisitor. The elf was greatly respected, by both mages and mundanes both. His words and reputation would carry much weight.

Natalya smiled slightly.

Perhaps the fact that the elf was not here was a good thing. In her opinion, they did have to look to the Hero of the Blight to find a proper Inquisitor.

If they wanted a mage, then she could name one…a man trained both in leadership and battle.

One far more…

…closer to home.

She turned to leave, still feeling the eyes of the priest upon her back, things had not gone perfectly today, but still...she had made progress.

As they left the throne room, she looked up in surprise.

Three people stood speaking with her small staff of advisors and aids, three people she had not expected to see.

She was surprised to see Evelyn Trevelyan, she had thought the girl was now surviving as nothing more than Uncle Van's bodyguard. The presence of the younger Trevelyans, what was their names...?

Oh yes, now she remembered.

Rhaena and Byron, their presence here was most surprising, surprising, but pleasing at the same time.

She had made a mistake she realized, she had hoped to gain the support of the more established members of her family, she should have been going after the younger, more passionate members from the beginning.

Those two had nothing to lose, and everything to gain, it was not surprising that they would be drawn by visions of making their names, of showering themselves in glory.

She smiled slightly.

Today had not gone precisely as she wanted, but...

It was a good start, a very good start indeed.

 _ **A/N: I've had a Queen Allegra story kicking around in my head lately. I thought it would be interesting to introduce her here. If anyone wants to hear a bit more about her Alistair, and Alim, please shoot me a review.**_


	27. Our New Friend

**Chapter 26: Our New Friend**

Trevelyan ducked as a fireball the size of a man's fist slammed into his magical shield.

The mage winced.

The fireball had not really been much, mostly just light and smoke, had it struck him unshielded it might have done some damage, but fortunately for him, the first lesson a boy learned in the circle was to shield himself when entering a hostile area.

That lesson had saved his life many times during the rebellion.

They had followed the clues described in the message sent by the Friends of Red Jenny. Three red scarfs that revealed the time, and location of their would-be attacker. Cassandra had expected a trap, but had gone along anyway, if for no other reason to say: I told you so later. They had encountered a few thugs, but nothing they could not handle. So far this was not turning out to be much of a threat.

Trevelyan wondered what more these people had in store for him.

Another fireball struck his shield, spattering harmlessly against it. This time, Nicholai did not flinch; he had been surprised by the first attack. The second was almost laughable.

He gestured slightly with his left hand, reinforcing his shield, just in case the first two attacks were a ruse, some mages used that strategy, a weak spell to make an opponent overconfident, and then sending down a crushing blow.

No further attacks happened as he stepped into the darkened alley. A lone man dressed in the fine clothes and mask of an Orlesian noble awaited him, the very same man who had thrown the fireballs.

Trevelyan gave him an arched look.

One thought occurred to him, probably not the most proper thought, but…one could not control what popped into one's head.

 _Who the fuck are you?_

He had expected another mage, perhaps the advisor of some devote noble house who thought killing the Herald of Andraste would gain favor with the chantry, or a chantry loyalist that had chosen to remain with the chantry and service them.

He had not really expected well…this.

"'Arald of Andraste," the man exclaimed in a thick Orlesian accent. He struck a pose, likely trying to look intimidating, but considering how he was dressed, it simply looked ridiculous, a child playing at war.

"How much did you spend to discover me," the man demanded, "It must have weakened the Inquisition immeasurably."

Nicholai snorted at this, the fact that this man's location had been leaked by the Friends of Red Jenny suggested that he was not as powerful as he thought he was.

"You must excuse me Serah," he replied, "But I have no idea who you are."

The attacker snorted with indignation.

"You don't fool me," the man sneered beneath his mask, "I…I am too important for this to be an accident!"

Cassandra's eyes narrowed.

"When I was the Right Hand," she said, "It was my job to know the identity of apostates living in the capital, if I don't recognize you, I doubt you are worth what you claim to be.

Nicholai tried not to laugh.

If Cassandra did not know who they were facing, it was likely that he was not the threat he believed himself to be. Likely some pompous lord's son, kept from the Circle, but with just enough magical talent to do a few parlor tricks to impress the ladies. Such men appeared from time to time, but always seemed to be elsewhere when the Templars came sniffing around their noble houses. Their doting parents shielding them from being taken away.

The result, of course, that you had poorly trained whelps that thought what little magic they had made them special, that and the fact that they had managed to stay out of the Circle. In the end, these fools were either destroyed by their own magic, or became abominations and had to be put down by the Templars. Nicholai suspected that these pretenders were only further emboldened by the Templars highly publicized exit from Val Royeaux.

Trevelyan tried not to underestimate this man, but at the same time, he did not feel threatened.

The Herald of Andraste sneered at him.

"If you are **that** important ser," he said dryly, "You should have probably hired a better magical tutor. I've seen better fireballs thrown by first year apprentices in the Circle."

Nicholai shook his head.

"You could definitely have used a bit more instruction."

The man stuttered in righteous fury.

"It does not mattair," he proclaimed, "My prestige will continue to grow with victories against you elsewhere! I shall…"

" _ **OY! YOU!"**_

All eyes turned, a bodyguard standing in the shadows fell forward, revealing a small elven woman in a tattered and stained brown shirt, and checkered leggings. Her blonde hair was chopped extremely short and done with the care of someone wielding a butcher knife, yet she was nothing to laugh at.

The longbow she was aiming was clearly no toy, nor was the arrow that was nocked and ready.

The elf glared at the Orlesian apostate.

"Just say what."

The man stepped back, starting to raise his hand, perhaps to throw another fireball.

"What is the meaning of… _ **ICK!"**_

The elf loosed her arrow. It struck the man in the mouth, the point coming out the back of his head. The man coughed, gagged, and staggered, finally falling on the ground, dying with barely a twitch.

The elf lowered her bow, a disgusted look upon her face.

"Ugh," she said, "I warned him, you all heard me. Rich tits always take more than they deserve."

She shook her head and walked up to the corpse. She yanked the arrow from the dead man, showing no respect for the fallen man.

"Blah. Blah. Blah," she said, her elven ears lowering in anger, "Obey me, arrow in my face!"

It was only then that she turned to greet the Herald and his party.

"So, you followed the clues well enough, you…"

She paused, her head tilted slightly, perhaps with disappointment. She looked Nicholai up and down evaluating him.

"Well," she said, "All that talk and you are just…a person."

"But it is all good isn't it? The important thing is you glow. You're the herald-thingy."

Nicholai chuckled.

"Some call me that," he said, "Who exactly are you?"

The elf grinned widely.

"I'm Sera. We should get round this, for the reinforcements. No worries, a friend tipped me their equipment shed."

She leaned forward, grinning slyly.

"They got no breeches."

Nicholai blinked, not sure what to say, when several more armed guards stormed the alley, too late to save their employer, and all of them, not wearing pants.

Trevelyan drew his staff and twirled it defensively, blocking the first sword, and blasting the man back with an arcane bolt.

"Why did you not take their weapons?!" he shouted.

The elf was giggling, almost too much to answer, but he did manage to hear one phrase.

"Because no breeches!" she cackled, tears of mirth running from her eyes. She dodged man with a battle ax; dropping low she caught him with her bow, striking him hard between the legs.

The man howled and keeled over.

"Right in the plums," the elf exclaimed, firing an arrow into his face.

Between the elf and his companions they made short work of the dead man's bodyguards. When the last one fell, it was finally time for answers.

The little elf had a bit of explaining to do.

She was still giggling about the men having no breeches, but somewhere in between the giggles and snorting laughter she mentioned having a desire to join the Inquisition.

Nicholai, still not sure who it was they had discovered, needed more than that from the elven archer.

"How about we have a more formal introduction, names and such," he suggested.

The elf grinned anew.

"One name," she said, "Better make that two. You see…well…it is like this. I used my friends to help you, the friends of Red Jenny that is me, well I'm one."

She paused, her brow furrowing.

"There is one in Mumford, some woman in Kirkwall, there were two in Starkhaven brothers or something. In here I'm Sera, out there I'm just another friend, I used my people to help you, plus arrows."

Nicholai's brow furrowed... The elf spoke almost too fast to follow, her logic looping back in on itself. What he managed to get was that Red Jenny was not a single person, but a network of people.

"Your people?" he inquired, "Elves?"

"Nah, people, people," the girl exclaimed, "The Friends of Red Jenny let people…friends, work together and stick it to nobles they hate. Take this tit…" she said pointing at the dead Orlesian.

"A lot of people hated this guy, he thought he was safe, and who gave him up, some houseboy, who don't know shite, but definitely knows a baddie when he sees one."

She frowned and pinned Trevelyan with a look.

"It is not hard to follow if you are not wasting you day on it. There have always been big people kicking little people, and unless you don't eat, drink, or piss, you are never far from someone little."

Nicholai's brow furrowed, he was starting to get, sort of, and it fit what he knew about the Friends of Red Jenny, what he had heard about them anyway. He tried to imagine the Friends of Red Jenny, hidden among the servants of the royals and nobles of Thedas. It would certainly explain all the things that had been credited to them over the years.

"So," he said, "You are offering us spies?"

Sera sighed; clearly he was not getting it.

"It is like this, up here you have all you noble types, walking over everything, blah, blah, blah, I'll crush you I'll crush you. Ooh…I'll crush you."

She made a kissing sound that turned into a rude snort.

"Then you have cloaks and spy kings, like this tit," she paused her ears twitched slightly.

"Or maybe he was just a little knife, with his…little knife," she giggled at that, but then turned serious when facing Trevelyan.

"No I'm not all dark cloak shifty pants, but if you don't pay attention down here, you risk your breeches. Like those guards…I stole their…

She giggled again, and Nicholai thought they were going to lose her again to another fit of mirth, but again Sera turned serious.

"What I am is offering my help, and I should not have to explain to anyone why free help is good."

Nicholai chuckled.

 _The girl did have a point there_.

Yet, he found that he was still curious.

Why would the Friends of Red Jenny seek out the Inquisition?

"When we first met, you asked me if I glow, what did you mean by that?"

"Well that is what they say and all," Sera shrugged, "You walked out of somewhere and now you glow…Andraste's Herald. True or not, it seemed like a good way to find out who you were."

"True or not?"

Well that is what they say and all," she said, "Look I just want to get things back to normal, that is what you are trying to do yeah? I want to help."

Nicholai considered her offer.

To his knowledge, never had the friends of Red Jenny turned to any authority figure for help. Of course, the Inquisition was not a typical authority figure was it? The chantry and Templars both opposed it. They had kind of pushed their way into Southern Ferelden with no permission from either the king or the local lords. The Inquisition was tearing down the old order, and putting something new in its place, whether that was good or bad, history would have to determine.

Nicholai smiled slightly.

To Sera and the Friends of Red Jenny, the Inquisition must have seemed like the anti-authority figure, authority figure. He could see why she wanted to help; of course, this might all be some ruse. Perhaps the friends of Red Jenny wanted to create more chaos, getting in with the Inquisition now could lead to that, still…

He looked over at the elf, she could have let…whatever his name was keep hiding in the shadows, maybe it would have been nothing, or maybe he would have become a major threat down the road, stopping him here, might have cut off a problem later. That fact could not be discounted.

Trusting the girl, taking her in, was a risk, but wasn't that what the Inquisition had been from the very beginning one big risk. If they were going to close the breach, they needed all the help they could get.

 _Free help was good._

Who was he to discourage it?

He smiled at her.

"Okay Sera," he said, "Perhaps we can use you and your friends."

"YESSS!" the elf exclaimed, clapping her hands, "Get in good with you before you are too big to like, that will keep you breeches where they should be. Plus I got all these extra…"

She motioned to a large back, likely containing the stolen breeches of the guards they had slain.

"You have merchants who buy this piss, yeah?"

"Probably," Nicholai agreed.

Sera giggled to herself.

"We have ship coming for us outside the city," he informed her, "Day after tomorrow, if you want to join, be on it."

Sera nodded.

"Gotcha," she said saluting him, "Ship then Haven, see ya' all later Herald. This will be grand!"

The elf turned and disappeared into a shadowed door next to where she first appeared. Trevelyan watched her go, not sure if this was a good thing or a bad thing.

Cassandra came up beside him; she had said nothing during his exchange with the rather manic elf.

"I hope you know what you're doing," she said.

Trevelyan sighed.

"So do I," he answered.

 **A/N: Next chapter Vivienne, and after that, an intro to the Trevelyan cousins introduced last chapter. The Trevelyan story will be growing in leaps and bounds, hope you are all here to see it.**

 **Until next time.**

 **DG**


	28. The Salon

**Chapter 28: The Salon**

According to Sister Leliana's agents, the Duke Bastien De Ghislain was a member of the Empire of Orlais' Council of Heralds and former father-In-law to the Grand Duke Gaspard. So it should have come as no surprise that his dwelling was akin to many of the noble estates that Nicholai Trevelyan had known during his boyhood days in Ostwick.

He stood outside the entrance, flanked by to Inquisition bodyguards. The invitation he had received permitted his entrance, but before he did, he paused for a moment to consider just what it was that he might be facing inside.

Plus, it had been some time since he had attended such a gathering, he felt it best that he center himself before diving back into noble affairs.

Once he had travelled such waters effortlessly, as the son of a Bann, he had been well trained on how to handle himself at such affairs, his handsome features and roguish charm had made him popular at many a gathering in Ostwick. He had known how to flatter with the best of them, and the women at such affairs had been drawn to him. The first time he had ever been with a woman was during one such gathering, Lady Amelia Beaufort…

He smiled at the memory. She had been quite curious about mages, and being a few years older, had been willing to share her… _knowledge_ in exchange for a night of fun and passion. Nothing had really come of it of course, she had returned to her life and he had gone back to the Circle, it was the first of several such liaisons for Nicholai, he had learned well from her, and it had made his future experiences far more relaxing, and enjoyable.

Of course that had been before the rebellion, before Gillian.

The thought killed any amusement he had felt. He found himself disgusted by his previous behavior, even though it was accepted in noble circles.

Perhaps coming here was not such a good idea after all, he thought.

He feared that he was out of practice, the things that he had seen and done since the fall of the Ostwick Circle had changed him. No longer could he play the role of bored noble-turned-mage, he had blood on his hands, and had seen far too much to ever go back to the innocence of his youth.

 _You will just have to fake it,_ he realized, _you do not have to like these people, but you know what_ _ **they**_ _are like, play on their ambitions and get what the Inquisition needs._

He took a deep breath and mustered his courage, and stepped towards the gates. His guards would have to remain outside, but that was to be expected at such gatherings. Duke Bastien's hospitality extended to the protection of his guests, at least in theory. He was not sure what role that First Enchanter Vivienne played in the Duke's life, but if he was willing to both shelter her, and let her hold a salon in his name; it was safe to say that the alliance between the two was quite strong.

He entered alone, the invitation entitled him to bring a guest, but his allies had refused, Varric had no interest in noble parties, Solas remained guarded, choosing to keep his head down considering that they were in the city that was technically the heart of chantry rule. Cassandra was…well…

Cassandra was Cassandra.

The safe house that Leliana's agents had set up for their lodgings had served their purpose well, providing not only protection, but resources that were useful to a brief stay here in the capital. One of the agents had even been able to scare up an enchanter's dress coat for Nicholai to wear to the Salon. He had no desire to attend a party in blood stained apprentice's mail. After a quick bath and a shave he had been ready to go.

The same agent had approached Cassandra, offering to, if she wished to attend with the Herald, find a gown suited for such a gathering.

The Seeker had looked at the man like he had grown two heads. Her silent frown had been enough to make him retract the offer and scurry back to his duties.

Both Nicholai and Varric had had to restrain themselves from laughing.

Trevelyan tried to picture what it would be like to enter a salon with Cassandra Pentaghast on his arm. He could not do it; it was hard to imagine the Seeker out of her armor, much less in a dress.

The thought made him pause.

He still missed Gillian that he did not deny, but that did not mean that he could not appreciate beauty when he saw it.

He could not, and would not, deny that Cassandra **was** an attractive woman, even with the scars from a life of battle.

She would have looked quite fetching in a dress.

He killed such thoughts, they were ridiculous. From what he had seen, Cassandra had turned her back on such frivolities long ago.

It was foolishness to think otherwise.

IOI

The music and voices of the Salon drew Trevelyan back into the noble world. As the doors to the main room opened, more than a few of the party guests looked up at him. He wore no mask or head dress like many of them, but his shirt, dress coat, and breeches showed that he was no mere hedge mage. The only decoration he wore was a small silver badge bearing the sigil of the Inquisition, that, more than his magic, would certainly set many tongues wagging.

The De Ghislain Herald, whose task it was to introduce the arriving guests, called out in a booming yet cultured voice.

"PRESENTING, SER TREVELYAN OF OSTWICK," the man exclaimed, "REPRESENTING THE INQUISITION!"

Nicholai flashed the nobles his most roguish smile and strided in like he owned the place.

Many guests parted as he passed, whispering nervously among themselves. Trevelyan, however, was not intimidated; he figured that his arrival had likely not been widely known. It was to be expected that his arrival would start many of these noble hens squawking.

Two nobles did work up the courage to approach him, both wore the sigil of a noble house that he did not recognize, a man and his wife, most likely, but Trevelyan remained careful anyway, not wishing to offer any insult.

"It is a pleasure to meet you ser," the man said offering a slight bow, "Seeing the same faces at these gatherings, it grows so tiresome."

"I can imagine so," Nicholai said returning the bow.

"I take it you are a guest of Madame De Fer, or are you here for Duke Bastien," the man inquired.

"Are you here on business," the man's wife inquired, "We have heard many wild tales of you, I cannot believe that half of them are true."

Nicholai chuckled.

"Those stories tend to be…exaggerated at times, Milady," he said dismissively, a humble smile on his face.

"But only for the best effect," the woman replied, returning his smile.

Seeing him openly mingling calmed the rest of the party, the rest of the nobles returned to their conversations and schemes, confident now that the Herald of Andraste was not going to smite them or turn into an abomination and try to devour them whole.

He spent quite a bit of time with the two nobles that approached him, a young married couple from just down the street. He did not get their family name, but Francois and Ninette seemed more than willing to answer his questions about what was going on here in the capital.

Both were ardent Empress Celene supporters, they both agreed that Grand Duke Gaspard's adventures in Dales would end in defeat and disgrace, with all that was going on, neither were surprised that Duke Bastien was not in attendance this evening, no doubt he wished to distance himself from his one-time son-in-law.

"I have heard the duke's name several times," Nicholai admitted, "Though I've never heard of this Madame De Fer that you mentioned; I was invited by First Enchanter Vivienne."

Francois chuckled.

"Madame De Fer is a nickname those at court have for Lady Vivienne," he explained.

"I'm told that she finds it amusing," Ninette added.

"Ah," Nicholai said.

"With the Civil War," Francois added, "I suspect that Duke Bastien is extremely busy, his business with the Council of Heralds keeps him away for long periods; it cannot be good for a man of his years."

Ninette tilted her head curiously.

"Will the Inquisition intervene in the Civil War?" she inquired, "We heard such horrible things coming out of the Dales."

Nicholai frowned.

"Our first order of business must be the breach, I'm afraid," he informed her, "We are working even now to gather allies to aid us, once that problem has been dealt with I will speak with the Inquisition leadership, about helping to restore order to the empire."

"The Inquisition," a haughty voice to their left called out.

Nicholai turned, a man wearing the robes and mask of a full marquis was approaching them, a dueling saber attached to the sash at his waist.

Even with the mask, Nicholai could imagine the sneer on his face as he spoke again.

"What a load of pig shit!"

Nicholai turned he kept the humble smile on his face.

"I assure you, Milord," he said diplomatically, "What is happening now in Haven is not pig shit, it may smell like cow shit or druffalo shit with all the animals passing through, but it is all for a good cause."

Behind him Lady Ninette giggled at his comment, the Marquis however was not swayed. He stood imperiously before the mage.

"Everyone knows what the Inquisition is," he growled, "Washed up sisters and crazed Seekers, all grabbing for power."

Still, Nicholai did not take offense, considering what the Templars had done, it was perfectly logical to see the Inquisition no better than them. It was Nicholai's job to convince people otherwise.

"We are merely trying to restore order," he continued, "We have already taken steps towards ending the mage rebellion."

The man snorted.

"Yes," he growled, "The foreigner, restoring order, with an army. The dog lords might be fooled, but you fool no one here in Val Royeaux. We all know what you are truly doing."

Nicholai crossed his armed.

"And what is **that** pray tell?"

The Marquis advanced, not quite getting in Trevelyan's face, but close enough.

He glared at him through the eye slits of his mask.

"We know who you are mage; you are the Butcher of _Asch's Crossing_! Your rebellion failed, so you murdered the Divine and claimed to be sent as Andraste's messenger, cloaking yourself in righteousness. You seek to build a **new** empire, with your foul kind at its head; well Orlais will **never** bow to a foreign ruler."

Nicholai's smile turned brittle, anger flashed in his eyes. It always came down to _Asch's Crossing_ , he was sick of defending himself for trying to protect the people there.

"I have no desire to rule anyone," he said in a cold and silky voice.

The Marquis snorted again.

"If you were a man of honor, you would step outside and answer these charges."

Nicholai tried not to laugh.

Did the man not realize who he was talking to? Nicholai could kill him with a single spell, give him a sword and he would likely cut the man down within two or three strokes.

It would have been easy, and perhaps…a bit satisfying.

No, his conscience chided, you are not here to make enemies. Could you kill this fool? Probably, but how will that aid the Inquisition?

The simple answer, it would not.

Nicholai took a step back, he was no coward, but at the same time he was not about to be drawn into something so foolish. A few years ago he would have jumped at the chance to duel this man, now he was much more mature.

He had been called a murderer and traitor since the rebellion had begun, he had gotten used to those attacks.

The Marquis would not provoke him.

Perhaps realizing this, the Marquis' hand went for his dueling saber. Several of the nobles gasped. Nicholai back pedaled preparing a shield spell.

As it turned out, he did not need it.

The Marquis' posture turned rigid, a cocoon of pale blue light enveloped the man. The party guests froze, most looking at Nicholai…

He, of course, had not cast the spell. He had not had time.

From the opposite stair behind him, their gave a soft laugh, a woman clad in white and silver descended her head covered by a tall pointed henin, a mask of fine silver covering most of her features. Her dark skin marked her as being of Rivaini blood, but when she spoke it was with the accent of a Marcher, Wycombe, maybe.

The woman's hand glowed with the same blue light that encased the arrogant noble. When she spoke it was in a voice that was both cultured, and menacing.

"My dear Marquis," she cooed, "How dare you come into my home and insult my guest."

She paced around him, a wolf moving around a sheep.

"You know that such behavior is… _intolerable._ "

All arrogance fled the man's face; his eyes were wide with fear.

"Madame Vivienne," he gasped, "I…I beg your pardon."

She laughed lightly.

"You should."

She approached him, lifting his chin with two fingers, despite her mask; no one would doubt that Lady Vivienne was a pure predator in that moment. She looked at the Marquis like he was something unappetizing she had seen on the street, or a bug she was about to step on.

The man swallowed hard, fear almost seeming to radiate off of him.

"Whatever shall I do with you, my dear?"

Nicholai was not sure, but he thought he heard the man whimper.

Vivienne turned to Nicholai.

"My lord, you are the aggrieved party here, whatever shall we do with this foolish, foolish man?"

Trevelyan blinked.

Back in Ostwick, a mage would never do what Madame Vivienne was doing right now. The Templars would not have stood for it, but the Templars were no longer here, and he had heard long ago that an Orlesian party was not a party unless a little bit of blood was spilled, if it was not the affair was considered boring.

He tried not to wince, his noble honor was screaming for the fool's death, but his duty to the Inquisition once again superseded that.

He was not here to make enemies, if the man died, his family might try to make things difficult, which could lead to more death later on Trevelyan hoped to avoid that, not that he was above making the fool sweat a little.

He idly tapped his chin, as if giving the man's death some thought. When he spoke again, it was as if he did not care either way.

"I think the Marquis has learned his lesson," he said.

Lady Vivienne smiled.

"By the grace of Andraste, you have your life my dear," she exclaimed snapping her fingers.

The magic faded, the marquis fell to his knees coughing.

"Do be more careful with it," she warned him.

The man slunk away, and the music and mingling returned to the party, some were likely disappointed that no blood was shed, but the night was still young, anything could happen.

Nicholai turned to his host, who was now giving him her most winning smile.

"It is a pleasure to meet you at last, my dear. I'm Vivienne, First Enchanter of Montsimmard, and Enchantress to the Imperial Court."

She raised her hand, and Nicholai took it, he kissed it chastely, as was custom.

"It is a pleasure to meet you at last, Madame."

"The pleasure is all mine, Milord," she said, "I have so wanted to meet you. We have so much to discuss."

He smiled innocently.

"Such as?"

"Why the future of Thedas, of course," she replied, gesturing to him.

"Follow me, my dear, what we have to discuss is best said in private."

Nicholai nodded and let her lead the way.

So far this salon had not been boring.

He suspected that it would not be getting that way anytime soon.

IOI

"I would not worry about the Marquis," Vivienne said sagely, "His Aunt may be a Viscountess, but they are not a very powerful family, though they **are** very devout."

Vivienne shook her head.

"Alphonse will be disowned for this; this is not the first time he had brought shame on his house. I suspect he will run off to the Dales to join the Empress' war effort, either to make a good end, or at the very least win back at least some of his self-respect."

Nicholai laughed lightly.

"Your affair has definitely not been boring Milady," he told her.

"I'm pleased that you are amused, my dear, but that is not the only reason I invited you here tonight."

She smiled slightly.

"Dear Lydia spoke often of you. I've been hoping for many years to have the chance to meet you."

Nicholai lowered his head slightly.

"Senior Enchanter Lydia was more than just a mentor," he informed her, "She was almost like a second mother at times. I do not know if I would have gotten through my first few months in the Circle without her."

He sighed.

"Sometimes I felt like I was disappointing her."

"Lydia could be like that sometimes," Vivienne said, "She expected only excellence, and more often than not, her apprentice's rose to the occasion."

Nicholai nodded, he was not sure if the First Enchanter was complementing him or not. Had he rose to the occasion in her eyes? He could not be sure.

"I…I wish she was…still alive. I could definitely use her advice right now."

She gave him a knowing look, and nodded slightly. Both honored their fallen friend. Lydia had always claimed that she was close friends with the First Enchanter of Montsimmard, she had mentioned that several times to her old apprentice, even though Nicholai had never gotten to meet her until now.

"She is still with us darling," Vivienne reminded him, "Her knowledge and spirit survive in you, and now we have a chance to truly honor her memory. By reminding everyone why we are all here."

"How are we supposed to do that?" he asked.

"By serving the people of Thedas of course, the breach is a magical problem; who else but the circle is most suited to deal with it?"

He gave her an arched look.

"You are aware that the Circles are gone yes?"

She led him out into a small walled off garden behind the estate, they walked together two mages both skilled in the noble arts of flattery. Trevelyan had feared that Vivienne would waste time with more small talk, or try to dance around the issue, before getting down to business, in this she surprised him.

Apparently the Enchantress had little time for small talk.

"The Circle is more than just its members; it is an idea, a place where we can practice or craft in safety. There are more than a few of us that have not forgotten the commandment that magic is to serve and never to rule. We need an organization that will protect and nurture magic, Maker knows, magic will find neither in the outside world."

"So you believe that all mages should be returned to the Circle?"

Where else can we learn to master our talents?" she inquired.

Nicholai shrugged.

"Not all Circles were as… _open_ as Ostwick's was," he reminded her, "Kirkwall was the clearest example of what happens when a Circle goes wrong."

"True," she agreed, "But does that mean that we should simply reject who we are because of a few malcontents in both the Circle and the Templars? The Chantry should have replaced both Meredith Stannard and First Enchanter Orsino years ago; Elthina's unwillingness to act was as much to blame for what happened next as anything. I'm sure you will agree."

Nicholai shrugged, not really sure how best to respond. His own time in the Circle had not been that bad, and in time, he had learned how to thrive there, but that did not mean that he ignored the excesses of the Templar order. Kirkwall was the clearest example of that, especially when Knight Commander Meredith had called for the champion's head.

"So you support the chantry?" he asked her.

"I was a great admirer of the late Justinia V," she said, "Had she lived she could have done so much, but now you and the Inquisition are the inheritors of her will, and as such, I wish to bind myself, and what is left of the Circle to your to cause."

He gave her an arched look.

"I'm surprised to hear that Madame. From what I recall, you chose to stay neutral during the rebellion. Why do you choose to fight now?"

She gave him a soft smile.

"Because the rebellion is over, my dear, the destruction of the Conclave and the breach has seen to that, only chaos remains in its wake. There is a hole in the sky that must be closed; the Inquisition seems to be the only ones in Thedas that recognize that, for that reason, I wish to join."

Nicholai gave her an amused look.

"Just because I suspect what my fellows in the Inquisition are going to say about all this," he said, "I hope you do not mind me asking exactly what you plan to bring to the Inquisition.

"I don't mind at all," she said, "First; I'm well versed in the politics of the Orlesian Empire. I know every member of the royal court _personally_. I also have all the remaining resources of the Circle at my command, and…"

She smiled slyly.

"I am a mage of no small talent. Will that do?"

He laughed again.

"It does for me," he said, "Though you must realize that the chantry has not sanctioned this Inquisition. Most consider us misguided at best, heretics at worse. You could be taking the Circle into dangerous territory."

"The chantry is leaderless," she said, "they are in no position to sanction anything. . It will take time for the chantry to choose a new Divine, and by that time, provided the Inquisition has sealed the breach. The new Divine will likely care nothing for official permission."

Vivienne smiled grandly.

"If the chant of Light teaches us anything, it is forgiveness."

Nicholai chuckled under his breath.

She did have a point after all.

Orlais was not turning out to be what he had expected. They had come here seeking allies, and they had found some. Madame De Fer and her people would no doubt be useful. If the loyalists that had chosen not to fight joined them now, their magical strength would grow quite formidably.

He could not say what that would mean for the mage rebellion? There would surely be many hard feelings between the rebels and the loyalists. He would do his best to smooth those over, but…

It would take time.

"Would you just be sending your people then?" he asked, "Would you be representing our interests from the Imperial palace?"

"Normally I would be happy to serve as Liaison to the court, but this is not a normal time. Every mage is threatened by the Breach; I would stand on the field of battle against, test my fate."

She smiled slyly.

"If our end is here," she added, "then I will face it head on, I will not sit back and wait for oblivion."

Her words amused him.

"You are definitely not what I expected Madame."

"I trust that you are impressed," she said.

Again he chuckled.

"Okay Madame," he said turning and offering her his hand, "You are in."

She smiled grandly.

"Great things are coming, my dear…"

"…I promise you that."

He took her hand and kissed it chastely, though he still kept a wary eye. He knew that many of his fellows would not so openly accept one who wanted the circles restored.

He would just have to be careful, convince them what needed to be done, needed to be done.

"Lady Vivienne," he purred.

"Welcome to the Inquisition."

 **A/N: Next chapter I'm going to be focusing on the arrival in Haven of Nicholai and Natalya's cousins. Since this story is about Trevelyans plural I decided to add more. Hope to see you back for more Inquisition fun.**

 **DG**


	29. Cousins

**Chapter 29: Cousins**

 _Glorious._

It was the only word that he could think of, the only word that best described what he was seeing. Nicholai had only just returned to Haven, and the sight that greeted him was enough to send a chill down his spine.

The Inquisition was growing in leaps and bounds, far more quickly than he would have expected. When he had left for Orlais they had had enough forces here to make it look like a good sized army camp. Refugees, pilgrims, and even a few locals from Haven had taken up the sword and pledged themselves to the fledging cause.

In their herald's absence, that army had _grown_.

In addition to the volunteers who had come since he had left, he saw at least two full companies of knights with their horses. Word must have reached Master Dennet in the Hinterlands because Nicholai saw quite a few unmarked warhorses too. The old master of the mounts had been true to his word, Nicholai had aided his farmers, and in return he had provided the cavalry the Inquisition needed. Trevelyan also saw no less than three standards of noble houses in the valley outside of the village. Nobles along with their soldiers and staff now mingled with the common soldiers. He saw men and women wearing the garb of both Orlesian and Ferelden soldiers. One might have suspected that trouble might start between the two groups, given the mutual animosity between the empire and the Kingdom of Ferelden, but so far, it seemed that everyone was behaving.

He noticed Kurtz working with several mages, likely survivors of their original group from the Free Marches. He rode out to greet his old friend. While Cassandra remained behind with Vivienne, her people, and the rest of their new recruits, The Enchantress had not taken her pledge to join the Inquisition lightly. A small company of mages, Templars, and tranquil had all traveled Haven to join the Inquisition and lend their aid. Most of these mages were loyalists that had fled to Vivienne for protection when the fighting started; she had used her connections with the royal court to shield them, as well as some Templars who had refused the Lord Seeker's orders. They had chosen their loyalty to the chantry and the idea of the Circle, and Madame De Fer had done her best to shield them. They came with both magical items and books salvaged when the circles fell; most of what they had brought would not remain in Haven. It would be taken to safe houses, stored by the Nightingale's people until it was needed.

Varric and Solas stayed back to keep an eye on Sera, and at least try to keep the little elven archer out of trouble. It was not that Nicholai did not trust her, but her dislike of nobles seemed to come out more strongly whenever she travelled in close quarters with Vivienne. The lady might not have been a noble herself, but she acted like it, and, as far as Sera was concerned, that was all that mattered.

It might be smart to keep the two apart, he thought, or perhaps take them along when they went back into the Hinterlands, there were still outlaws that needed to be cleared out, and fighting together could bond people in a way that nothing else could.

He would consider it before heading out again.

Kurtz seemed more than pleased when he greeted his former employer, the sell-sword only seemed happy when he was well-prepared for a fight, and given the number of recruits they now had, it was safe to say that they were, or would soon be.

"Not bad, eh lad?" he said with a grin.

Nicholai nodded. He was still amazed at how many recruits they had gained since he had been gone.

 _If only we had had this kind of support during the rebellion,_ he thought, _the mages that served under him had become good fighters, but they had never been enough to give the Templars and their allies pause._

Seeing this…

"This is how it should have been," he murmured, "This is what I had hoped to achieve back in the Free Marches."

The old sell-sword nodded.

"Never underestimate the power of a single cause," the man said, "One army, one goal, under the hand of strong leadership can move mountains."

Nicholai nodded.

That had been the problem with the mage rebellion. The various factions had all wanted something different. Freedom, self-rule, revenge against the Templars, all these goals had pulled the various mage fighting groups in different directions, there had been no single leader, the First Enchanters or those that took over when they were killed never sought any real unity in the ranks, they had tried and failed in Tantervale, and after that…the rebellion had turned into a free-for –all.

Trevelyan frowned slightly.

Right now, the breach kept them all unified, but once it was closed, he feared that personal ambitions would start to take over. So far the war council held the Inquisition together, but he could easily see it splitting apart into smaller factions if and when they suffered their first major defeat. Some would turn to the Nightingale, others to Ambassador Montilyet…

He shook his head.

They needed to make sure that that did not happen.

"I should speak to Cassandra," he said, "She is going to have to start consolidating her power, make sure the highborn know who is in charge.

Kurtz chuckled at that.

Nicholai gave him an arched look.

"Did I say something funny?"

"I don't think the Seeker is interested in ruling," Kurtz replied still snorting with amusement.

"She called for this Inquisition," Trevelyan reminded him.

"True, but the Seeker is a fighter, not a commander. I don't think she had an interest in running the whole show herself."

Nicholai cursed under his breath. He suspected that Kurtz was right.

"We will have to find someone willing to do it," he said, "And soon."

The sell-sword nodded sagely.

"We will."

The two men made their way through the camp, mages and soldiers saluted them as they passed. Trevelyan knew he had to head to the chantry, Cassandra had promised to meet him there once they got Vivienne's people settled in.

He spotted Quartermaster Threnn approaching, at her side a mage and a young man in armor.

Trevelyan's brow furrowed.

They both wore a horse insignia.

 _Both of the newcomers wore the sigil of House Trevelyan?!_

"Welcome back Herald," The Inquisition's quartermaster said placing her hand over her heart in greeting.

"Threnn," he said returning the gesture, he looked up at the two who had accompanied her.

"It seems we have guests."

"I was trying to find Cullen," Threnn informed him, "Figured he would want to check these two out, just came from Denerim, with a missive from Lady Song."

She handed him the letter. He took it and read it quickly, his brow furrowing slightly.

He took a deep breath and let it out quickly.

So Nat had recruited three of Uncle Van's kids.

The mage shook his head.

Their father was going to be furious when he found out. Given the cold war between Bann Pieter and his brother, they would both be lucky if Father did not hire the crows to kill them both.

What had Nat been thinking?

He glanced up at his cousins, both blonde haired and green eyed, just like him. Had they come from anywhere but Lord Van's household, they would have been welcomed in Ostwick with open arms. The boy carried himself like a warrior, or at least was comfortable in his armor, the woman, close to his age if he would guess burned with a quiet power; he could feel the magic radiating off her like a torch. She had a cold beauty; she did not smile, and looked almost as if cut from ice or stone.

He could almost hear his father's complaints, that Van could not be trusted, and that his children were equally untrustworthy.

Still, he recognized the fact that they needed all the help they could get.

He smiled slightly and addressed his kin.

"I'm Nicholai," he said, "Welcome to the Inquisition."

IOI

Evelyn Trevelyan gave her cousin a cool evaluating look. Though she had not fought in the mage rebellion, she had heard of the exploits of her cousin, the man everyone was now calling the Herald of Andraste.

So far she was not impressed.

She held out her hand.

"Evelyn of Kinloch…"

She paused and shook her head.

"Evelyn Trevelyan," she said quickly.

The Herald chuckled.

"You were about to say 'of Kinloch Hold'," he said.

She nodded.

Nicholai chuckled again.

"I did that quite a bit when the Circle in Ostwick fell," he admitted, "For too long I was Enchanter Nicholai of Ostwick, it was hard to be just plain old Nicholai Trevelyan again."

She gave him an arched look.

"From what I hear Herald, you were never simply plain old anything."

IOI

He might have laughed but the cold expression on his cousin's face suggested that she was not making a joke, simply an observation.

He shifted slightly under that hard unforgiving gaze.

Bit of an ice queen, this one, he thought.

IOI

Evelyn tried not to shake her head.

She and the Herald were about the same age, but he did not seem as…hardened as she would have hoped.

Evelyn Trevelyan had come to know the hardness of the world at an early age. Ten years ago she had survived Uldred's depravity, and then later, the siege of Denerim. She was one of the few mages that had left the top of Fort Drakon with their lives. Since that time, she had rededicated herself to combat magic and other arts that would make her a survivor.

One would have suspected that she would have jumped to the rebels' side when mage rebellion began, yet that was not the case. Evelyn's time in the Circle had not been happy one. She had loved only one man, and he had not been able to help her when she needed him most. He had gotten her with child, and then left her to fend for herself. She had given birth to a child at a young age, his father, a handsome Templar, had later died during Uldred's attempt to take over the Circle. As for the baby, her little boy…

Evelyn winced at the memory.

…Neither the Circle nor the boy's father had been able to shield her child. He had been taken away, ripped from her arms even as she lay in bed, weak from the birthing, recovering from bringing him into the world. He had disappeared among the rest of the children that had been _"given_ " to the chantry. Evelyn did not even know if her son was alive or dead. No one would tell her anything, not the First Enchanter, or the Knight-Commander.

It was her secret pain, she had continued to do her duties as a member of the circle, but she could not deny how she felt.

She hated both sides; it was a hatred that burned with a dark passion. Yet, at the same time, her memory of Uldred's depravity kept her from seeking out the destruction of what she hated. She had come to the circle late, when she was fifteen, so her father had had plenty of time to teach her patience.

She was no fool, she waited for the right opportunity to punish those that hurt her, when the mage rebellion had begun, and she saw that opportunity at last.

Both the circle and the Templars had caused her great harm; she had no use for either of them. She would not die to put either side in power. When the mages had rebelled she escaped from them, and journeyed to Denerim, and sought sanctuary with her father. He had sheltered her, given her his protection, she was grateful for that, but protection was not enough.

She had wanted more.

When Natalya Song had come to them, she saw a chance to fight both the mages and the Templars, neither side supported the Inquisition, and one would have to bend the knee if the breach was to be closed, the other would likely have to be destroyed.

The thought brought her a sense of grim satisfaction.

What side eventually decided to help the Inquisition did not matter to her, not as long as they were brought low, that was what mattered to her, it was all that mattered to her. She…

 _No._

 _Wait._

She frowned.

 _It was not_ _ **all**_ _that mattered._

"I'm Byron," she heard her younger brother say as he shook the Herald's hand, "I'm eager to fight at your side cousin."

"Any sharp blade is welcome right now," The herald said, "We welcome the help."

The younger Trevelyan smiled.

"No reason that you should have all the glory, cousin," he said.

Evelyn shook her head.

Glory, she thought.

The foolish idealistic boy!

Byron had no idea what he was getting into. Charging another idiot with a stick on horseback did not prepare a person for battle. She had faced both demons and darkspawn, compared to that, her brother was a child playing at battle, he knew nothing of blood and death. She had killed; she had seen friends and colleagues die in battle, brave people that died screaming for their mothers, begging for help. She had seen the horrors of war first hand.

She would rather that her little brother survive long enough to realize exactly what it was he was getting into. She owed it to their father, who could have just easily have turned her away, to make sure that Byron came home safe, he and Rhaena both, they…

Evelyn frowned.

Wait, she thought.

Where was Rhaena?

She cursed under her breath.

They had been so busy trying to keep up with the Quartermaster that they had left their little sister behind.

She shook her head.

Damn it.

Where was the girl now?

IOI

Rhaena made her way past the training soldiers, people fighting with both staff and sword, archers filled targets with lethal shafts, while mages blasted away at each other's shields, preparing for a real fight.

The sight of it all left her in awe.

Rhaena giggled to herself.

Here, she thought, here…

She smiled brightly.

Here was where she would find a true adventure.

Though she had been raised mostly in Denerim, she had spent at least half of her childhood on the sea. She had been born on a ship, her mother giving birth while she and Father were on their way to Cumberland. As she was the youngest child, both mother and father doted on her greatly. Father already had his heir and his spare, but that had not stopped him or mother from taking steps to prepare her for her place in their business. From the time she was eight, she was serving as her father's cup bearer at meetings. He wanted her to learn everything about the business so that she could serve her elder brother better when the time came. Under him, she has studied mathematics, religion, and history. Mother had taught her to read and write which had opened up the world of literature to her, freeing her from simply studying numbers and ledgers. She also tutored her in foreign languages; so much of their business took them to Nevarra and Orlais she wished her child to be ready to speak with anyone of those great nations. She spoke Antivan, Nevarran, and Orlesian, well she was still learning Antivan, but she was getting better.

She might have remained behind the scenes of her father's business, except for one simple fact, when she turned fifteen men started to notice her, and ask father about her. Suddenly he realized that she might have more value than simply being someone toiling for profits and reading ledgers.

She had learned recently that one of her father's friends, a shipping lord in Orlais had taken an interest in her. The man was an old business partner of her fathers, a man of seventy who had recently lost his heir in a shipping accident.

Now he was looking to remarry, and Father had been considering offering her up as a potential candidate. By doing so, their shipping interests would expand many times over.

Of course, she would then have to be married to a seventy year old, it was not something that eighteen year old Rhaena for that appealing.

Byron had not been pleased when he learned of this, part of the reason he had been staying in Denerim was to try and convince father on her behalf not to let the wedding go forward. The thought of being offered up as some trophy wife had little appeal, and she certainly had no desire to try and give the man more heirs.

She shuddered.

Even now the thought of it made her cringe.

When Natalya Song had shown up on their doorstep, Byron had felt they had found an answer. Blades were needed for the Inquisition, that was true, but surely they would have use for a girl of her singular talents.

"You can stay here and be a prize, or come with Evelyn and me and be a person," Byron had said.

"That is your only options."

Of course, it had not really been an option; she knew what would happen if she stayed, and that was not what she wanted. Father would be furious; he might even try to disown her, but so what.

At least she had a chance to serve something greater, to find her own glory. She might not be a warrior, but that did not mean that she had nothing to offer. She was smart and knew business very well.

Surely the Inquisition had use for someone like her.

"You there," a commanding voice called out.

"Stop."

Rhaena froze."

"Um…ah…Yes?" she said turning to face the warrior approaching her.

The man was powerfully built, broad shouldered with short spikey blonde hair. He was handsome in the way that most knights were, ruggedly so, a small scar marked his lip. He was followed close behind by several advisers followed in his wake, suggesting that he was a man of power here.

He towered over her; she barely came up to his mid chest. Most Trevelyan's were tall, but she took after her mother, who was a very petite woman.

She shivered slightly, the man made her feel like a lamb caught by a lion.

"You should not be wandering around the camp," he advised, "If you are looking to sign up, the table is over there."

He gestured to where a young officer was speaking with a small group of recruits.

"Actually," she said shyly, "I was looking for my brother and sister, we came here together you see, at the invitation of Lady Natalya Song."

The mention of her bastard cousin's name caused an immediate change in the officer, his eyes narrowed slightly, she sensed that he did not care much for the Herald of Andraste's sister.

"What is your name girl?" he demanded.

She reached up and lowered her hood, the fur cloak had kept her warm on the journey, but now under the officer's intense gaze, she felt herself growing too warm.

She did her best to meet his gaze, feeling more intimidate than ever.

"Rhaena Trevelyan, good ser."

The officer froze, several of soldiers following behind him gasped.

Again, she found herself feeling more than a little self-conscious.

The Inquisition officer was speechless; she suspected that she knew why.

Others had always told her that she was a beauty. Her form lithe, her features slender, her long blonde hair was straight and flowed down like spun gold to her lower back. Her mother told her once that she had innocent eyes, eyes that would ensnare even the most savage man's soul and draw them in. She had thought mother only trying to make her feel more desirable than she truly was.

She gave him a weak smile.

"Hello," she said shyly.

The officer blinked.

"I…um…ah…ugh…Maker's breath."

She tilted her head slightly.

"Yes?" she asked.

It was at that moment that Evelyn and Byron found her, followed close behind by a man who looked enough like them that this had to be their cousin, Nicholai."

Her green eyes widened.

This could only be the Herald of Andraste himself.

She dropped down to one knee in submission.

"My lord cousin," she said bowing her head.

The herald chuckled and turned to the officer.

"Commander Cullen," he said with a hint of amusement in his voice.

"I see you have met my cousin Rhaena."

"Yes," the Commander said quickly, suddenly looking away from her.

"Yes," he coughed, "We…um…we just met."

Cousin Nicholai gestured for her to rise.

"Stop doing that girl," he said, "Everyone is starting to stare.

She did as her herald bade her, how could she not?

He was Andraste's prophet after all.

Cousin Nicholai turned to the officer, to Cullen.

"We are needed at the Chantry," he said, "Cassandra's calling a meeting.

The man nodded.

"Of course, Herald, of…um course."

He blinked and finally managed to look into Rhaena's eyes. She blushed and bowed her head.

"Milady," he said respectfully.

"Commander," she purred.

He turned away quickly, she was not sure but she thought he might have been blushing.

The sight made her giggle.

Evelyn was chastising her for running off, but Rhaena only partially heard her.

Natalya Song had promised the three of them an adventure.

Rhaena smiled slightly.

So far, her cousin's words did not disappoint.

So far.


	30. Return to the Hinterlands

**Chapter 30: Return to the Hinterlands**

"You are the one they call Giles?" Evelyn Trevelyan said coldly, her expression a mask of indifference.

"The inquisition has questions for you."

Nicholai winced. It was not the way that he would have chosen to begin this conversation, but he had wanted to see how his cousin handled such things, now he knew…

Not that he could say that he was pleased about it.

He had returned to the Hinterlands with his companions and a small guard. After the limited success of the Val Royeaux trip, the Inquisition hoped to do better in its negotiations with the mages. Agents had already left for Redcliffe as the preparations for the meeting handled.

Meanwhile, Nicholai and his allies had learned some startling information from Sister Leliana. Shortly before the Divine's death the grey wardens of both Orlais and Ferelden had all but vanished. Their keeps were sealed and abandoned, messages had gone unanswered, and no warden patrols moved anywhere in the two nations.

Given the Nightingale's history with the order, she was understandably troubled by this. She could not reach any of her friends in the order, and the rest of her old companions knew nothing.

She had brought her concerns to the Herald. She did not like the idea that the wardens might be involved in the Divine's death, but it was her job to pursue any lead as the investigation continued. The only lead that she currently had on the wardens' disappearance was a single warden believed to be travelling through the Hinterlands, a man known only as Blackwall. All that was known of the man was his military record within the order; there were no sketches of him or paintings. Recent sightings suggested that the man now served the order as a recruiter, but his passing through cities and towns were few and far between.

The Nightingale's agents were reasonably sure the man was still in Ferelden, likely in the hills of the Hinterlands. Those agents had asked around and had come up with the name of Giles, a refugee that had mentioned meeting a man calling himself Blackwall.

It was that report that had drawn the Herald and his allies to the man today, much to the poor man's dismay.

The man looked understandably worried when confronted by Evelyn Trevelyan, not that Nicholai blamed him. His cousin was more than a little imposing; her height, weapons, and cold demeanor were enough to make anyone believe that they were in grave danger.

Giles, a small man dressed in peasant's garb quailed under the mage's cold regard.

"I…I don't want any trouble," he said, "I haven't done anything."

Evelyn tilted her head slightly.

"We are not here to arrest you. We merely wish to ask you some questions. You have mentioned to several of your fellows about encountering a grey warden. We wish to hear the tale."

Giles twitched nervously. Nicholai was about to intervene on the man's behalf, doing what he could to calm him, to ensure him that they meant no harm.

"You…you must mean Blackwall," Giles said.

"Yes," Evelyn replied, "Please tell us what you know."

As the man told them about his encounter with the warden, Varric slid up next to Nicholai, his expression thoughtful.

"Would you think less of me if I said that cousin of yours scares the piss out of me?" the dwarf inquired.

Trevelyan resisted the urge to chuckle.

No one would ever accuse his cousin of being a warm gentle flower that was for sure.

IOI

Evelyn had a coldness that even Cassandra could not rival. The Seeker's smiles were few and far between, but she **did** have them, her faith kept her grounded. His mage cousin did not have that. Her unforgiving nature extended to her allies as much as her enemies. Yet, none could doubt her skills. During their journey here they had encountered a small group of outlaws, likely part of the same band that continued to harass the refugees. It was a problem, a problem that would have to be dealt with.

One of them approached Evelyn with his sword drawn, she pinned him with an imposing glare.

He was not impressed.

"Draw your staff robe," the outlaws said to Nicholai's cousin.

"I prefer a different path," she answered.

Evelyn did not even bother trying to use her staff. She drew a small sword from a sheath at her waist, its blade far too short to do any more than a dagger could; that was before she poured her magic into it.

That…was when things got _interesting_.

The blade responded to her power, changing length as needed and cleaving armor as easily as flesh. Nicholai's cousin took heads and limbs with equal efficiency. She even had a name for the weapon, she called it: _Fool's Bane_ , and to the outlaws that were _foolish_ enough to attack her, it certainly **was**. She was quick and ruthless in dealing with her opponents. When it was done a single bandit had tried to flee. She had gestured with her left hand, wrapping the man in a cone of freezing cold. As the man's body seized up she approached with look of scorn on her beautiful face.

She shattered the man's frozen head with the hilt of her sword; it was a move that even made Cassandra flinch.

Vivienne gave her an appraising look; clearly the court mage was impressed.

"You're a knight enchanter," she said.

"Fully trained," Evelyn said with a dismissive shrug, "It has been far too long since I have been able to flex these muscles. I feared that I was getting out of practice."

Vivienne smiled.

"I've studied the art myself from time to time, but never have I had a chance to achieve your level. We are lucky to have you along my dear."

Sera sighed and rolled her eyes.

"Ugh," she grumbled, "the Evil bitch club convenes its first meeting."

If Evelyn took offense to the elf's comment she did not show it. She simply cleaned and slid her blade back into its scabbard. She acted like Sera and Varric were beneath her notice. Cassandra she was respectful to, but that was it. The only members of their group that she showed any true respect for was Vivienne and Solas. Vivienne likely because of the power she commanded as the de-facto leader of what was left of the circle. She did not care for the Circle, but that did not mean that she was not respectful. Solas…well…she was impressed by Solas.

"You are quite skilled," she had told him, "It is impressive."

His elven ears twitched slightly.

"Skilled for an apostate, you mean?" he asked.

"For **any** mage," she responded, "I have known full Enchanters that have not had a tenth of your talent. We're you trained by a hedge mage? Did you study with the Dalish for a time?"

Solas chuckled.

"The Dalish know little," he said, "Their ignorance blinds them to the world around them. The skills that I have gathered have been picked up during much travel and exploration of the fade. Does that trouble you?"

Again Evelyn shrugged.

"It is the Templars that have always feared the fade. Had we been allowed to explore it properly, who knows what we might have achieved."

She bowed her head slightly.

"I respect you for your power, master elf. No offense is meant.

Solas smiled slightly.

"A circle mage…respectful of an apostate," he said, "Astonishing."

"I am _not_ like most Circle mages," she said.

"This I can see," he replied.

Nicholai was pleased to see that he would not have any problems between his cousin mage and the rest of their group. It seemed that Nat had been correct.

Uncle Van's children did have a lot to offer the Inquisition

IOI

Evelyn's brother Byron seemed eager to prove himself a warrior, Cassandra accepted his presence, though she believed that he still had much to learn. She understood the concept of honor, but she also understood that they often fought people that did not care about honor. The boy needed to be willing to do what it took to secure victory.

There was fighting, and then there was **fighting**. War was not like fighting on a tourney field. You did what you had to do.

Rhaena had not joined them on this mission. The girl was no warrior, but that did not mean that she was not useful. After a brief introduction, the girl had entered into Ambassador Montilyet's service. Josephine had been impressed with the girl's knowledge of language and mathematics. The fact that she was beautiful did not hurt either.

Josephine was willing to use whatever tools she could to advance their interests. Having a beautiful attaché at her side could not hurt when entering into negotiations with some brutish noble, often it was a good distraction.

IOI

The group made its way down the king's road, the signs of war remained, burned farms the occasional body along the side of the road, but there were signs of hope as well. Every hundred and fifty paces was a sign proclaiming these lands under the protection of the Inquisition. Several refugees camped in the nearby fields sharing what food they could with each other, and all under the watchful eye of Inquisition patrols.

Considering the chaos that had been here less than a month earlier, Nicholai took it all as a good sign. The Inquisition was doing its job.

It was restoring order.

Byron Trevelyan looked bored as they made their way up into the hills. The rogue Templars and mages had been cleared out by Nicholai and his companions so now there was nothing here to fight but outlaws. To the nineteen year old would-be-knight, it was not likely that he would win many battles here.

He walked beside his elder sister, his eyes falling to her sword.

"Yes, brother," she said.

"When will I have a named weapon sister?" he asked.

"When you grow up," she replied tartly.

He snorted in anger at her comment. Clearly he did not agree with her statement of his age.

Evelyn, perhaps realizing she had gone too far, spoke again.

" _Fool's Bane_ earned its name during the Siege of Denerim," she informed him. Many darkspawn fell before it, yet, after the battle when the Archdemon lay dead, fools eager to find loot on the streets that I had been assigned to protect tried their luck against me."

She smiled cruelly.

"They failed _Fool's Bane's_ test, and my blade earned its name."

"Lovely story," Varric said, "And the trend of you scaring the piss out of me continues."

Evelyn glanced down at him, her lip curled, not a smile, perhaps the ghost of one.

"Good," Evelyn Trevelyan replied.

Both her brother and the dwarf rolled their eyes.

The group made their way up a rocky path leading into the lake country. The lake had once been a place of rest for the residence of Redcliffe village, but it had been overrun by the Templars and mages and had become too dangerous for common travelers. They stopped briefly at an Inquisition camp, making sure that everything remained quiet. The officer in charge reported that the outlaws remained a problem, but nothing that they could not handle. The only interesting thing that the man could report was that they had seen a small number of refugees heading toward the old dwarven ruin to the north, all armed with basic weapons, and moving with at least a bit of military precision.

Nicholai glanced at Cassandra who nodded.

That fit what they had heard from the refugee Giles.

The Warden Blackwall had been furious when he had learned about the outlaws preying on the refugees, he had used his rights as a warden to conscript every able bodied man he could to go after them and recover what they stole.

"We should probably get up there," Byron Trevelyan said, "those farmers are likely going to get themselves killed."

Varric chuckled.

"Don't underestimate people defending their homes," the dwarf advised.

Nicholai nodded, he knew the length people would go to protect what was theirs. He had seen it during the rebellion.

He led their small party towards the lake, following the path the Inquisition men said that the armed refugees had taken.

He hoped that they would find the warden before anyone else did.

They had questions that needed answering, it would not do of the warden was killed before they got a chance to meet him.

As it turned out they need not have worried.

Blackwall had things well in hand.

IOI

" **Hold the line men! Let them come to me!"**

Nicholai watched as Blackwall led his conscripts against the bandits. The barrel chested warden with his long brown beard engaged the outlaws in quick but lethal combat. His armor, bearing the sigil of the white griffon was dented but well cared for. The man wasted no movement in dealing with the bandits; he struck, ended his opponent, and moved on.

He had only just called out to the warden when the outlaws fell upon him and his conscripts, Blackwall had ordered the Inquisition agents to fall back or get to fighting. They were dealing with these thieves now.

Cassandra and Byron aided the refugees, while the mages and archers covered them from behind.

In a bit of surprising twist, the mages nearly fell under attack from behind, dwarven fighters and rogues had emerged from the dwarven ruins behind a large waterfall.

Evelyn met them with her sword, she held the line giving Varric and Sera time to find some cover and use their bolts to deal with this new threat.

"Who are these tits?" Sera exclaimed, "They are fricking everything up!"

"Looks like carta," Varric replied, "Lyrium smuggling would be profitable around here, what with the mage rebellion up in Redcliffe, and the few rogue Templars still wandering these hills.

"They are still fricking things up," Sera complained, "I don't like that!"

Varric chuckled.

"You and me both Buttercup,"he said.

Nicholai did not stay back with the mages; he had his sword and staff, and met the bandits. They fought with a skill far too advanced for mere outlaws, which seemed to confirm what they had suspected from the beginning.

These people were too well organized, they fought like mercenaries, but why would mercenaries play at being bandits, what were they doing here?

Everything they had done to this point was directed at keeping people away from the roads and the hills near the lake. Why was that? What was so important up here that they would throw themselves against the Inquisition?

What were they protecting?

The last of the outlaws cried out as Blackwall caught him with his sword, cutting him from navel to neck, the man fell to the ground and rolled twice before falling still.

The warden snarled and planted his sword in the earth; he kneeled before his victim, his expression, regretful…perhaps.

"Sorry bastard," he murmured.

He rose and turned to his conscripts, with the aid of the Inquisition they had all survived.

"Well done men," he called out, "We did not ask for this fight, but…"

The warden shook his head.

"Thieves are made, not born. Take back what they stole from you, go back to your families, you have saved yourselves."

The refugees passed the warden, most offering thanks as they took back what had been stolen from them. Blackwall watched from a distance, his eyes seemed sad, despite his victory.

He finally turned to Nicholai.

"Now," he said gruffly, "Who are you? How do you know my name?"

"My name is Nicholai," he said, "I'm an agent of the Inquisition."

"He is the Herald of Andraste warden," Byron called out, "Show some respect."

Both Cassandra and Evelyn silenced him with a glare.

Nicholai continued before the warden could take offense.

"We are investigating the link between the disappearance of the wardens and the death of the Divine."

Blackwall's brow furrowed.

"Maker's balls," he growled, "The wardens and the Divine.

He shook his head.

"No warden had anything to do with the Divine's death. Our purpose is not political."

Trevelyan gave him a wry smile.

"What does the wardens' purpose say about throwing farmers at outlaws?"

"That was different," Blackwall answered, "I was passing through, recruiting on my own, as always. I fought some demons, and then I heard about the stealing."

He sighed heavily.

"Wardens can inspire," he said, "Make a man be better than he thinks he is. The bandits preyed on the people, so I conscripted their victims, the next time trouble comes, these people will not need me, or anyone else to protect them."

"Do you know where your fellows might have gone, warden?" Cassandra asked.

"Maybe they returned to our fortress in Weisshaupt. It is not like many would notice, no Blight, wardens are the first thing to go. People forget…"

Evelyn stepped forward, her cold eyes finally showing emotion.

"I fought at the Siege of Denerim, ser," she said.

"I have not forgotten."

Blackwall nodded at that.

"Still doesn't explain what happened," Nicholai added, ""We're you planning on joining up with your fellows?"

"My duty is recruitment," Blackwall answered, "I travel alone, that is my way, planned to do so for years. If a runner was looking for me, say to give me new orders he would not have had an easy time finding me that is the way I prefer, to be honest."

The warden sighed.

"Better for everyone that way."

Nicholai nodded, he understood what it was like wanting to find solitude, and personally he had never had that luxury. Everyone had always had something to ask of him.

He could not deny that he was a bit disappointed.

He believed Blackwall when he said that he did not know what happened to his fellow wardens. It might not have been very helpful, but at least they knew what he knew now.

The herald sighed.

"Thank you for your time warden," he said, "We will leave you to your mission."

He gestured for the others to follow. Varric motioned him over, wanting to show him the dwarven bodies at their rear.

"Inquisition!"

He paused; Blackwall had called out, stopping him.

"What you have said, about the wardens disappearing, the death of the Divine, and the torn sky."

The man shook his head.

"Thinking us absent is as bad as thinking we are involved, I can't have that."

He stood at attention.

"Maybe you need help? Maybe you need a warden, maybe you need me?"

Nicholai smiled slightly.

"I will not turn down help," Trevelyan said, "But I fell that I must ask: what exactly can you do for us?"

Blackwall chuckled.

"Save the fucking world if pressed," he said, "Look I may not have a lot of practice at fighting demons, but show me someone that is and I will step aside. What is happening now, it may not be Blight, but it is bloody well a disaster. I have my blade and my treaties they are yours if you want them."

Nicholai did not take long to consider, he had seen what kind of fighter the man was.

He would be a fool to turn him down. Plus, it did not hurt to have warden standing with them; people still remembered what Alim Surana and his friends did.

Many still felt that they still owed the wardens a debt; he was not above trying to claim it.

"Warden Blackwall," Nicholai said, "We would be glad to have you along."

The warrior smiled.

"Good to hear it," he said with an eager smile.

"This warden…now walks with the Inquisition."

 **A/N: If any of you are curious about Evelyn's involvement in the Siege of Denerim, and would like to hear about that, please shoot me review. Not sure if she would make a cameo in** _ **Stormbreaker**_ **or if it would be stand alone in** _ **Grim Tales**_ **, anyway, please let me know in a review, you know I love them. Until next time dear readers.**

 **DG**


	31. A Queen's Song

**Chapter 31: A Queen's Song**

A sudden rainstorm battered Denerim. Merchants moved quickly to cover their wares, while those wandering the streets took cover where ever they could.

Natalya Song made her way down the streets of the palace district. Only Binder and two guards accompanying her, she had left her quarters in a hurry, but if what she suspected was happening, it would all be worth it.

Many stories passed through the capital, more than a few of those about the Hero of Ferelden, stories of his exploits both during and after the Blight became the most grandiose of legends with each telling. The warden's many impossible victories now told to every boy and girl old enough to hear and understand.

One such legend said that sudden storms often marked the arrival of the hero in the capital, and that he was known to stop first at the Blight monument in the palace district, to pay his respect to all those that had died helping him end the reign of the Archdemon, if that was so, and the rain did herald his coming.

Natalya Song was determined to meet him.

The whole thing might have sounded ridiculous to most, but given everything that she had seen recently, Natalya was willing to take that chance.

It would be worth it, to meet with a legend in the flesh, to meet with him, and learn his intentions.

The Blight monument was a large stone griffon nearly twenty feet tall from the tip of its wings to its base, build into center of a small domed pavilion the statute rested on a bed of obsidian, obsidian cut into the faces of monsters, signifying the wardens triumph over the darkspawn ten years past. Around the statues base were many offerings for those that had fallen during the siege of Denerim, not to mention many a lighted candle. Even after all this time, the loved ones lost during that epic struggle were remembered by their kin, remembered and honored.

Song shook out her cloak before she approached the statue; the pavilion was deserted for the most part. Only the sound of rain falling on the domed roof could be heard.

She stood before the monument, and looked up into the griffon's stone eyes. The design of it was quite common, or so she had heard, there was a similar monument in the village of Redcliffe, smaller of course, but done in the same style.

She glanced around, hoping to catch a flash of movement, the sight of an elf in a white robe and tall hat, for that is how most in Thedas were said to know Alim Surana; there were no paintings of him and no statues anywhere, simply these large stone griffons honoring the sacrifice of the order to which he belonged.

Natalya shook her head.

 _You think that people would be_ kinder _to their heroes._

Most people did not look fondly on the hero, the chantry certainly did not. The reports of his madness; not to mention the many times he had involved himself in noble affairs had made the hero extremely unpopular among the noble class. The chantry found it hard to accept a mage hero, must less an _elven_ mage hero. The few paintings she had seen depicting his victory over the Archdemon made the hero barely look elven. His profile always hidden or his pointed ears hidden beneath his hat.

The chantry did not really know what to do with Alim Surana, so they did their best to honor his work, but ignore his presence.

Despite the chantry's attempt to minimalize what he had done, much was known of his deeds after the Blight. He had traveled far and wide, most said, often in the company of new companions. He was said to have fought darkspawn, rogue wardens, and pretenders to the Ferelden throne, shielding his friend Alistair, and protecting the kingdom that they had given up so much to defend. Little was said of the man himself, his personal life, therefore there was much speculation among the nobles.

Song smiled slightly.

There was one tale in particular that had caught her attention recently, especially since the Nightingale, the Hero's rumored lover, was now such a huge part of the Inquisition.

It had occurred about five years ago, a group of Redcliffe soldiers had been patrolling the mountain paths between Ferelden and Orlais when they had come across a rockslide, a rockslide that had buried a group of pilgrims returning from the village of Haven. Haven had still been a much rougher place back then, the Chantry had only just truly committed to rebuilding the town, before that they had spent all their coin and effort protecting and studying the temple of Sacred Ashes.

The slide was said to have been terrible, and sudden, the poor people had had no time react. There had been only one survivor, and what a survivor she had been.

The soldiers had found a single little girl among the dead, a child of four or five that had miraculous escaped the slide. She was bruised but otherwise uninjured. The girl had first spoken to them in Orlesian, but switched quickly to the king's tongue when the men found her. She had showed little fear, and was said to have been quite curious about these heavily armored men. To say that she was unusual would have been a vast understatement.

The child was said to quite pretty, but very pale skinned, skin that was almost white, she was also said to be quite slender, almost unusually so for a human child. Large blue eyes peered out from beneath bangs of silver white hair. The bonnet, fur cloak, and clothing she wore suggested that she had spent much time in the mountains. Yet it was said that she curtseyed when the guards first approached her, suggesting that her parents had taught her proper noble etiquette.

When asked her name, the child said only one thing.

Alindra.

The men had brought Alindra back to Redcliffe, while they sent word to Haven, hoping that someone there might know who she was. The girl was taken to the chantry, where one of the Revered Mothers had promised to look after her. They had fed and bathed the child, which of course led to another interesting discovery; the girl's bonnet hid a secret.

A single stripe of dark red ran through her silver white hair, a flash of blood in a crown of white.

On the second day of the girl being taken to Redcliffe she had grown quite sad, missing her friends and or parents, parents she had refused to name. She had lain on the bed they had offered her and she had sobbed. Heavy rain fell that night on Redcliffe, rain that had continued for almost two days. The rain only stopped when a sister presented the scared and lonely child with pretty doll, or so the story said. The girl had giggled and began to play.

It was said that when the girl first smiled the sun finally emerged.

Some in the chantry began to wonder about this…Alindra, the strange child they had taken under their roof. She was quite intelligent for such a young child, far more so than one would expect of a child of people living in the Ferelden wilderness. That intelligence, her unusual features, and the strange sudden storm provoked wonder among the sisters, wonder that had soon turned to fear and suspicion.

One of them, of course, sent a letter to the Templars of Kinloch Hold. Word was quickly sent back, the Templars were coming to test the girl.

They would arrive in two days.

Early on the morning of the second day, the Templars arrived, not a single knight, but Knight-Commander Greagoir himself, accompanied by six of his finest knights. They had entered the chantry, prepared to the test the girl. When they arrived, the child Alindra was not there…

But the Hero of Ferelden was.

It was said that the encounter had been tense at first. Greagoir was said not to have had the most cordial relationship with the warden elf.

In the end, the Knight-Commander had dismissed his men, but not before noticing that the Hero had not come alone. His allies stood behind him, their hands not far from their weapons, or so the legend claimed.

Natalya could only imagine had the Commander had felt, the men and women that had travelled with the warden were not as legendary as his companions during the blight, but they were known.

Ser Oswald Ogre's Bane of Dragon's Peak, Maegan the Cat, Tristan Merry, Prince of the Highwaymen of Ferelden. Dougal the Fortunate, the last apprentice of Dworkin the Mad, and Nuri, the Hero's elven apprentice, being in such company would have been enough to intimidate anyone, even a Knight-Commander of the Templars.

The Knight-Commander and the warden had retired to the Revered Mother's office, to speak privately. When that talk was done, the Templars left. It was said that Greagoir had glared at the warden, but made no moves against him. The warden and his friends had taken the child, they had been sent by the girl's parents the warden had said, parents that had been worried sick, but were grateful for the chantry's aid.

After that, the child Alindra had vanished with the warden and his allies, and had not been heard of again.

Natalya did not know if this story was true, but it was curious none the less.

Why would the warden have involved himself in such an affair? Had the girl been a child of one of his companions, or had she been something more?

All that could be said about this tale was that the Templars **had** gone in force to Redcliffe four or five years ago, and that the child they had sent to test had been taken before they could perform their duties. It was rumored that the Revered Mother of Redcliffe had received a letter from Divine Justinia herself, shortly after taking the sunburst throne, a letter that advised them to let the matter go, and not worry anymore about the fate of the child.

 _The child was safe, they had done their duty, and all that remained now, was to trust in the Maker._

Had that letter been written? Was it even now locked in the Redcliffe chantry; it might be prudent to go and see. She…

The sound of footsteps startled her; she turned to find four royal guards taking up position around the monument.

"I see I'm not the only one who hoped to meet someone here today."

Song bowed quickly.

"Your Majesty," she said lowering her head.

Queen Allegra lowered her rain soaked hood, she sighed as she looked up at the stone griffon. Her expression was a mixture of sadness and disappointment.

She frowned slightly.

"He comes and goes as he pleases Agent Song," she said, "I'm sure he has his reasons, but that does not mean that he is not missed by those who call him friend."

The queen gestured for Song to rise, which she did.

The two women stood before the monument, both looking down on the many names carved into its base, so many had died during the siege, even after almost ten years the scars of their passing remained.

Natalya suddenly felt extremely exposed, she would have preferred the king's presence, he was said to be…uncertain around attractive women, or so the rumors went.

She suspected that she could have gotten more out of Alistair then she could out of Allegra.

She glanced over at the queen, her expression was guarded, yet it was clear that she was here for more than simply a chance to speak with the absent Hero of Ferelden.

When she finally spoke, Natalya was more than a little relieved, though she was not entirely sure how to answer.

"Why are you here Agent Song?"

""To meet the hero, or at least I hoped to meet him."

"Not that," the queen said, a hint of harshness in her voice, "Why are you here, in Denerim?"

Song shrugged.

"The Inquisition requires allies, and a voice at court, that is why my brother sent me here."

"Indeed," Allegra said, "And I suppose it has nothing to do with the Tevinter Mages that have taken over Redcliffe Castle, mages that have now run both the Arl and the chantry out into the street."

"What?!"

Natalya cursed herself for a fool, she was usually much better at hiding her emotions, but this information…this…

She had been caught completely flat footed.

"We have heard that the Herald of Andraste had had dealing with the Tevinters during the Siege of Tantervale, dealings that were ended before the city could be delivered to them."

The queen faced her, no small amount of anger on her face or in her voice.

"Is this Inquisition simply a farce, a ploy by the Imperium, a way for the Tevinter to try and steal Ferelden land?"

"No," Natalya said quickly, "Never! You have my word that I knew nothing about the Tevinter presence in Redcliffe, Your Majesty. The inquisition has certainly had no direct contact with them; that is for sure."

"Yet you are seeking the aid of the mages of Redcliffe, mages that have declared themselves for the Tevinter Imperium?"

"We seek aid against the breach, nothing more. If the mage rebellion has gone to the Tevinters it is not with our knowledge or blessing. As a point of fact, my brother believes that the Tevinters betrayed the mage rebellion in Tantervale; he would never willingly work with them. Never."

Queen Allegra pinned her with an evaluating gaze, the queen likely did not believe her, not that that was any surprise.

Song silently cursed.

People would lose their heads over this. She would send word to Leliana, knowledge was power, and ignorance could not be tolerated. Yet to the queen she did her best to appear shocked and surprised, no anger showed on Natalya's features, even though she vowed to punish anyone who had led such information slip past them.

The queen finally turned back to the statue, whether she believed Song or not the bard could not tell.

Allegra sighed heavily.

"We are doing are best to keep this information to ourselves. We have no desire to cause a panic. If the mage rebellion is now a Tevinter army, they will need to be dealt with. Both Alistair and I had hoped that Alim would have returned by now, we have tried to send messages through channels that we know he checks, but so far…nothing."

"You seek his counsel?" Song asked.

The queen nodded.

"We are prepared to remove the mages, but we have both learned the value of Alim's words."

The queen smiled slightly.

"He was the first friend I made in Denerim. He helped Alistair and me through the first awkward steps of our marriage. Alistair trusts him, and so do I."

"Your faith in the hero is touching Your Majesty," Song said respectfully, "Even with all the rumors about him."

Allegra laughed slightly.

"Sometimes I wonder if Alim's madness is an act," she said, "His…mental failing has given him a freedom that many of his order could not hope to for."

The queen's expression turned thoughtful.

"The last time we spoke, he seemed…worried about…something. Something to do with the elves he had said, something moving unseen, unwilling to show itself, gathering strength perhaps."

Natalya said nothing, she was willing to listen to the queen, the woman was said to have the Hero of Ferelden's ear, if he was concerned about something, it was worth knowing.

She would mention this to Nicholai; she would return to her quarters and send a letter off immediately.

"With your leave, Your Majesty," she said curtseying, "I will send a letter to Haven, warning the Inquisition about the Tevinters, and the hero's fears."

"I suspect that your Inquisition will know about the Tevinters soon enough. Our agents in the west have reported that they have finally reopened the gates of Redcliffe. As for Alim…"

She sighed.

"Where ever he is, I hope that he realizes what is going on here. He tried to stay out of the mage rebellion; he tried to focus on sharing what he had learned about the magics of his people with other elves.

Allegra pursed her lips.

Perhaps he discovered something we do not yet know; maybe that is why he has not returned. Perhaps there is more going on than we can see."

Song bowed her head, already composing her warning to Nicholai in her head.

"We must try and have faith, Your Majesty," she said. She feared it an empty offering, but she did not wish to alarm the queen into doing something rash.

If the Inquisition was going to gain the aid of the mages they would have to move quickly, before the Ferelden army came down on the rebellion like a hammer.

"We will try to have faith, Agent Song," the queen said leaving the monument, raising her hood against the rain, her guards falling in step behind her.

"We **will** try."


	32. Strategy

**Chapter 32: Strategy**

" **A fade rift had opened outside the gates of Redcliffe!"** a young scout shouted.

" **The people there need** _ **our**_ **help!"**

Nicholai paused, a spoonful of porridge half way to his mouth. Cassandra leapt to her feet barking orders. They had spent the night in a camp not far from Redcliffe village, so that they could move quickly when word came that the mages were ready to begin negotiations. He had been awake for less than an hour, and had only just sat down to break his fast.

Trevelyan's eyes narrowed.

All, this rushing around was all well and good, but a rift opening near the entrance to Redcliffe village presented an interesting opportunity.

He did not intend to waste it.

He sat down his porridge and stood, using his magic to bolster his voice, he made a firm announcement for what he intended to do.

"Everyone sit back down. We're not going anywhere, yet. Redcliffe will have to stand on its own for a day."

He found the scout who had brought them the news about the rift. He ordered the boy to gather some of his fellows and post a guard on that rift. They were to keep out of sight, but do nothing to aid the people inside the village walls. If any travelers tried to approach the village they were to be politely turned away, informed that the gates of Redcliffe were shut and would be opened tomorrow...

"What if demons breach the city walls, Your Worship," the scout inquired, what if more rifts open inside the village and it starts to become overrun?"

"If that happens, then send word and I will come with as much aid as I can muster," he promised, "As long as it is only a single rift outside, you are not to approach or engage. Do you understand? Do nothing unless the situation worsens. If things fall apart you come and get me, you do not get creative or play the hero, you call for help. Is that understood?"

"Yes…yes Herald," the man said.

"Good," Nicholai said with a nod, "Now get moving, send reports every two hours. If I'm off aiding the refugees the commanders here will make sure I hear your message."

"Yes, Ser," the scout saluted rushing off to carry out Trevelyan's orders.

Once that was done, Nicholai sat back down, and began to eat again. The porridge was quite good, he had to admit, the elven farmer who had offered it to them definitely how to cook a decent breakfast.

A shadow fell over him; he looked up to see Cassandra looking down at him, giving him the evil eye with a disapproving frown.

The rest of their companions remained where they were; Varric especially looked a little worried.

He had felt the Seeker's anger before, and wished it on no one.

Solas, Vivienne and Blackwall had not moved from where they sat, all eyes were on the Seeker and Herald, waiting to see what happened next. His cousins had watched from where the horses had been tethered, they had been readying them to ride when Nicholai called out of them all to stop.

Sera was still asleep in her tent, snoring loudly, Nicholai had seen no reason to disturb her, not yet at least.

After all they were not going anywhere, yet.

Nicholai tried to appear unbothered, even under the Seeker's withering glare.

"You disapprove," he asked between a spoonful of porridge.

"Have an issue with my order?"

Her frown deepened.

"I've never known you to shy away from a fight, Herald," she said coldly.

"I did not say that we were not going to help Redcliffe," he shrugged, "I said…not yet."

Her brow furrowed.

"Why wait," she demanded, "We have the means of closing that rift right now."

"True," he agreed, "Redcliffe has strong defenses and many mages inside to protect it. We _could_ come to their aid, but then we miss a golden opportunity."

He gave her a roguish smile.

"I do not intend to waste it."

"You wish to see them struggle," Solas said with a curious twitch of his elven ears, "They will endure the demon attack for a short time, and then you will sweep in and save them..."

Solas smiled slightly.

"…The sacred hero descending from on high to save the masses."

"Playing the hero is good, I can't deny that. It is **one** advantage," Trevelyan agreed, "but not the _only_ one."

Cassandra frowned; she was not yelling or threatening him, which was good. He could see that she was considering what Solas had said, and what Nicholai had said.

He tried not to feel disappointed.

The Seeker had been fighting her entire life, defending the chantry from its enemies. He was surprised that she did not see what he intended, that he had to educate her on the strategy of playing the long game, it had been one of the first lessons that his father had taught him as a boy.

It was a lesson that had served him well, one he had tried not to forget.

Then he realized that he should not have been surprised.

Cassandra was a skilled warrior; she would dive into the void itself to save an innocent. Her brashness and compassion served her well, but those were not a quality of a military commander.

During the rebellion, he had learned quickly to look at the larger picture.

Fortunately, he was not the only one.

Blackwall and Vivienne got it before the Seeker did.

"You are waiting to see if Fiona and her malcontents have any power over the rift and its demons?" Vivienne suggested, "You're testing to see if they know more about the magic that caused the rifts."

Nicholai nodded slightly.

"No one in this camp can say that they don't have doubts about meeting with the mages. You, yourself, mentioned that this might be a trap Seeker, that the ones behind the explosion at the conclave maybe hiding among the mage rebellion. If the breach was not some random accident, if the rifts have a purpose beyond being an uncontrolled side effect of the explosion, watching the mages reaction may give us some real proof if they were behind the explosion or not."

"You're baiting a trap," Blackwall said, "If the mages reveal that they have some power over the rifts, then it is proof that they may be involved in its creation."

"I hope not," Trevelyan said, "But at least this way, we will know."

"What of the people that are at risk in the meantime?" Cassandra demanded, "Are they not worthy of our protection?"

It was Vivienne that responded to that, with an amused snort.

"As the Herald said, my dear, Redcliffe village has strong walls and defenses; they should be more than able to hold out against a single fade rift for a single day. Any that are injured or killed is unfortunate, but if there sacrifice provides us with good information, who are we to deny that their end was not necessary for the greater good."

"It is harsh," Blackwall agreed, "But this is a harsh world, not everyone can be saved, no matter how much we may wish them to be."

Cassandra's expression changed. She was digesting what she had heard, but was clearly not happy about it. She might understand what was being said, her head might be telling her it was right, but her heart was likely raging against the math of it. Several lives lost to save hundreds, if not thousands in the long run."

It was an ugly choice, but as Nicholai had said, the village of Redcliffe had strong defenses.

That should be enough to hold out for a single day.

The Seeker lowered her head; it was clear from her rigid posture that she was still angry. Yet, her eyes told a different tale, one of grim acceptance.

"It…it is a wise strategy Herald," she said, "Perhaps it is best that we do wait."

Nicholai sighed.

"I don't like it either," he said, "It is the smart move, if not the moral one, we must trust that the mages in Redcliffe will use their power to keep themselves and the villagers safe, at least for one more day.

"Then we can move in and help, not just as a group of do-gooders, but as strong allies who are willing to provide support."

Cassandra nodded, accepting what he was saying.

"You have my apologies," she said bowing her head, "I should not have doubted you."

He waved off what she said with a dismissive gesture.

"You have nothing to apologize for. You are a compassionate woman, Cassandra; that is not vice it is a virtue. Never forget that compassion."

He smiled slightly.

"It will keep you grounded. It will keep this inquisition grounded."

The Seeker nodded again, a hint of a smile on her lips. She accepted Nicholai's compliment for what it was; a compliment.

That hint of a smile pleased Nicholai, pleased him more than he completely understood.

He wanted Cassandra's respect, but that smile; or rather that hint of a smile was something more.

What that something more was, he wanted that to, he might have denied wanting it, but that did not change the fact that that desire was there.

It was there, and it was growing.

IOI

The next day the group made its way to the gates of Redcliffe. As the Herald had suggested they had waited a full day and night before sending more than a token force.

Evelyn Trevelyan smiled slightly. It was a good plan, after spending the night fighting off demons; the village would be more open to inquisition demands. Their cousin had been wise not to simply leap into action.

Now they would be in a lot stronger position to dictate terms.

They had spent most of the yesterday dealing with the mercenaries that had gathered to the west. The Inquisition had invaded their base of operations, a lightly defended villa south of the Redcliffe farms. The place had not been built for defense, and according to the soldiers and scouts they had with them had grown up around here the villa had served mostly as a summer home for the younger members of the Arl's family, or at least it had before the Blight.

Once again she found herself walking beside her brother. He had made a good account of himself yesterday, some among the Inquisition might have doubted his skills, being a mere tourney-fighter, but never the less he had proved himself a fierce fighter.

Now they were marching on Redcliffe to relieve the people of the demons that were attacking them. She welcomed any chance to face those fiends; memories of Uldred's depravity still haunted her.

It felt good to strike down monsters similar to what he had become.

Byron looked worried as they drew closer, which was a surprise, he had dealt with bandits without a moment's hesitation. Killing monsters should be more than easy for him.

"A problem brother?" she inquired.

"It is nothing," he said quickly, "It…it is…"

She gave him an arched look, the same look that their mother had often given them when they were children.

The boy sighed, a frown turning his usually handsome features ugly.

"I'm worried about Rhaena."

"Rhaena is safer than we are right now," she reminded him.

"It is not that, it…it…."

Byron shook his head.

"I've always been there to protect her, and when I have not been there, father was. I did not try to discourage her coming with us. She is only here because we wanted to come. If something happens…

"Something?" Evelyn asked.

Her brother's frown deepened.

"Haven is basically just one big army camp, it is a rough place and…"

He pursed his lips.

"I do not like her wandering around an army camp with soldiers who likely have not seen an actual beautiful woman in months. What…what if…"

Evelyn had to fight the urge to laugh.

There were many attractive women in Haven, they might be wearing armor, or hoods of scouts, but they were there. As for Rhaena, Byron was making a mountain out of a mole hill. There little sister may have been a little naïve and a bit too curious for her own good, but she was no fool. She would not walk into a place that she could not walk out of safely. Both Lady Montilyet and Sister Leliana were quite attractive and now Rhaena was working closely with them both. They would not let their little sister find herself in a dangerous place without offering at least guidance, and besides…

…Rhaena was no fool; she had grown up on the Ferelden docks, surrounded by sailors and other ruffians. She had emerged from that place unscathed with her sense of innocence and maidenhood intact.

The mage suspected that their younger sister would be fine, despite her big brother's concern.

The group approached the entrance to Redcliffe village, and for the first time they got to see a fade rift up close, and the demons that continued to flow out of it. Cousin Nicholai had wasted no time. He and the bulk of his allies attacked it, while Evelyn, Byron, and the soldiers they brought kept the demons at bay, and from fleeing.

It was during this time that they finally got to see the Herald of Andraste in action. She had seen the glowing mark on Nicholai's hand, the holy symbol of power that the Maker's bride had burned into his flesh.

Their cousin wielded that power with skill; he blasted at the rift stunning the creatures emerging from it. From there he and Cassandra and the others waded into the monsters, assaulting them and driving them back, or blasting them down. When new creatures tried to emerge, Solas cast a spell draining the rift of mana, closing the door on the demons trying to step through. Finally, when the demons were either dead or had been driven back, Cousin Nicholai raised his hand and assaulted the rift with the magic in his hand. The rift roiled, shifted, and tried to expand, but it was pointless, the Herald's power proved too great, and then…suddenly.

The rift closed with a loud pop.

Nicholai sighed and gave them all a tired grin.

The threat had been ended.

"Maker's tears," Byron said with wide amazed eyes, "That was…impressive."

"Indeed," Evelyn agreed, she did not give credit easily, but in this, her little brother had been right.

What they had seen was quite impressive.

From behind the walls the guards protecting Redcliffe offered up a sigh of relief, they raised the small portcullis that had sealed the entrance.

The Inquisition was finally ready to enter the town.

IOI

Nicholai entered Redcliffe feeling like they now owned the place. The soldiers at the gate had bowed as he passed. To them, he must have seemed like more than a mere mage, they had received reports from the scouts that the mages had been trying all night to contain the demons in the breach and keep any others from springing forth.

It had been an interesting battle, different from what he had faced in the past. It might have been his imagination, but it seemed that the rift they had just closed had been causing pockets in time. He had no other word for it. Where the rift's magic had touched things had moved strangely, either sped up to an amazing degree, or slowed down to almost a crawl. Blackwall had nearly been clawed by one of the demons when he had accidently stepped into one of the pocket that slowed things down, he raised his shield but his arm seemed to barely move, if not for Varric they might have lost their Grey Warden right then and there.

He wondered if those pockets were caused by some spell of Fiona's people, he would have to ask him about it. If they meant it to close the rift, then it was safe to say that that attempt had most certainly failed.

Having failed, he hoped that they would now be more open to the Inquisition's offer. They still needed aid in sealing the Breach itself, and to be perfectly honest.

He would rather deal with the people here than the Templars. He suspected that Lord Seeker Lucius was not the type to put his ego aside, or at least he had seemed that way back in Val Royeaux.

Trevelyan hoped that Grand Enchanter Fiona would prove to have more sense.

An Inquisition agent from within the village approached while Cassandra took her place at his side. He was grateful that she was here, and that she had not fought with him on the decision to wait for this attack.

The scout kneeled as he came to a stop before them.

"Milady, my lord Herald," the man said.

"Report," Cassandra said wasting no words.

"We have set up in the local tavern; it is as good a place as any to conduct the negotiations. Though I must advise caution, no one seemed to know about our arrival."

Nicholai gave the man a questioning look.

"No one? Not even Grand Enchanter Fiona?"

"If she did Milord she did not mention it to anyone, she..."

It was at that moment that an elven mage flanked by two sell-swords approached. Cassandra tensed, but Nicholai laid a gentle hand on her shoulder, neither the mage nor his guards had their weapons drawn.

They were simply rushing to meet them.

"Agents of the Inquisition," the elf puffed, "Our apologies, we…we had not been informed that you were coming until yesterday."

"It is fine," Nicholai said dismissively, "We should have sent word two days ago."

The man nodded slightly, he seemed to take no offense, if anything he looked relieved to see them.

"Magister Alexius has not yet arrived, I'm afraid no decisions can be made until he does, however you can speak to the former grand enchanter if you wish."

Nicholai blinked. The man's words drew him up short.

Former Grand Enchanter?

Magister Alexius? Who in Andraste's flaming tits was Magister Alexius? If the man did hold the title of Magister then…

With those two phrases, all of Nicholai's strategies had suddenly gone to shit.

Trevelyan's eyes narrowed.

He did not say it out loud, but one question came thundering into his mind.

 _What the_ _ **fuck**_ _was Tevinter doing_ _ **here?!**_

He remembered the debacle of the Siege of Tantervale very well, how he **still** believed that the Tevinters were likely behind their defeat there. How they had caused the death of more than a few of his friends.

Now here they were again, in Redcliffe, up to Maker only knew what.

His eyes narrowed at the thought of it.

He was suddenly very eager to speak with the Grand Enchanter, the **former** Grand Enchanter.

 _Yes._

 _He was quite eager indeed._


	33. Redcliffe

**Chapter 33: Redcliffe**

"The situation has changed; the mage rebellion has… _sworn_ itself to the Tevinter Imperium."

When Nicholai Trevelyan heard the Grand Enchanter, the former Grand Enchanter, speak those words, it was all he could do to keep the look of shock from spreading across his face. He had come here to get the mages' aid in sealing the breach, only to find out that Tevinter had not only beaten them to it, but had already gained the mages' support.

He remembered the first time he had heard the Grand Enchanter speak; she had been addressing the college of magi in Cumberland at the time, rallying the enchanters against Templar excesses, excesses that even then were starting to border on oppression.

Seeing Fiona now, that fire was gone, she seemed diminished. When he asked her about their invitation here she claimed to have no knowledge of their meeting in Val Royeaux, even though Nicholai was sure that it was her that they had met. It was all very strange the elven mage agreed, but not as surprising as what Trevelyan and his allies had just learned.

The Herald's brow furrowed, it seemed that today was just full of surprises.

Out of respect for the power that they now wielded the Inquisition had been granted access to Redcliffe village. They were escorted to a local tavern named the Gull and Lantern, where the negotiations were supposed to take place. Trevelyan had expected to be taken to the castle to treat under the watchful eye of Arl Teagan or one of his staff, but that had not happened. When they arrived they discovered that the Arl and his men had already been removed, in fact everyone in the Castle had been removed accept for the Magister, his staff, and the few servants that the mage lord required to serve him.

He made mental note to send a letter to Nat in Denerim, find out what was going on.

According to Fiona, the Tevinters had arrived less than two days after the Conclave, while Nicholai had been unconscious in the cells beneath the chantry; the Imperium had sent a small force to bolster the mage rebellion's defenses.

Thinking about the timing of it, how quickly the Tevinter had arrived sent off more than a few warning bells. It was not like Tevinter had had a garrison close by, the closest one would have taken weeks to hear about the Conclave, much less send help, then for them to travel through Nevarra, Orlais, and into Ferelden undetected seemed unlikely. Of course this was not the first time the Imperium had taken interest in the rebellion, was it?

Trevelyan frowned.

He **still** remembered the Siege of Tantervale.

His friends Gilbert and Lamont had died during that siege, died because the Tevinters may have convinced the rebellion's scouts not to send word of the advancing Templar army. No one had heard what had happened to those scouts they were either dead, or had left with the Tevinters, perhaps even as loyal members fighting in their service.

One question had bothered him after the failed siege, why, why would Tevinter betray them? What did they have to gain by seeing the mage rebellion brought low, they offered help, only to turn around and days later aid the Templars in scattering the rebellion and leave it reeling? As Nicholai heard Fiona's words, he finally thought he had an answer to that question.

As disorganized as it was the mage rebellion was still a fairly large force with dozens if not more very powerful mages in its service. By weakening the former circles, the Imperium now had an army of desperate people looking for any form of shelter. Desperation had a way of making people do some very foolish things.

As he looked into the eyes of the First Enchanter, he could see that she was not pleased with all this. It likely had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now the realization of what they had done was starting to settle in.

"As one indentured to a magister I no longer have the right to negotiate with you," Fiona told them.

 _Indentured_ , Trevelyan thought, _enslaved_ was a better word.

By accepting the Tevinters "help" the Imperium now had both an army and a beachhead into southern Ferelden. Much of Thedas was already in chaos, if Tevinter joined the fray things would only spin further and further out of control.

Nicholai had brought only three companions with him to this meeting. Cassandra and Varric because they had been with him since the beginning, and Vivienne given her history with the Circle and the Grand Enchanter.

Not surprising, none of them were happy to hear about this new alliance.

"Fiona dear," Vivienne cooed, "I'm afraid your dementia is showing."

"Andraste's ass," Varric growled, "I'm trying to think of something worse you could have done, and I got nothing."

"Do you wish all of Thedas to rise up against you?" Cassandra asked the former Grand Enchanter.

Fiona made excuses of course, they had been besieged by the Templars, fearful of a Templar army chasing after them and sacking Redcliffe in the process, murdering every mage they could find. The Tevinters had given the Templars pause, or would have had the attack occurred. Which it never did, because shortly after the Conclave Lord Seeker Lucius had ordered his men to return to Val Royeaux, and Nicholai had seen what had happened after that.

He wanted to grab the Grand Enchanter by the shoulders and shake her, make her realize what a fool she was being. Tevinter cared nothing for mage rights in the south, only for what the rebellion offered them, disposable soldiers that could be used to further the Archon's ends.

Before he could do this, the door opened behind them, two men in Tevinter robes entered, an elder mage in crimson, and a younger one in gold. For Tevinter soldiers accompanied them, they kept back but watched the Inquisition agents like a cat ready to pounce.

The elder mage, clearly the leader the group smiled grandly at them.

"Welcome my friends," he exclaimed.

"Agents of the Inquisition, "Fiona said from behind them, "Allow me to introduce Magister Gereon Alexius."

"The southern mages are under my command," Alexius added, and then his eyes fell on Nicholai. His smile became wider.

"Ah," he said, "You must be the survivor, the one from the fade…"

His expression turned slyer.

"How interesting," he purred, like a predator sizing up prey.

Nicholai gave him his most roguish grin. If the magister thought him mere prey, he was gravely mistaken.

He was not pledged to any magister, and unlike his fellows here.

Nicholai was not afraid to bear his teeth.

"Your presence here is…most…unexpected Magister," he said, "I would not have expected the imperium to respond so fast in the mage rebellion's hour of need."

Alexius laughed lightly.

"We arrived exactly when needed," the man said dismissively, "It must have been…divine providence that we came here when we did."

Nicholai tried to determine if that was a slight directed at him. He thought that the Tevinter making light of his being called the Herald of Andraste.

He decided to let it go, for now. He was more interested in the particulars of this new alliance.

According to Alexius, the southern mages' contract of indentured service was standard. They currently had no rights as citizens of the imperium, and would not for another ten years or until their debts have been paid. For now they were an expense to the imperium, but Alexius was not concerned about that, he was sure that Fiona and her allies would be useful, once they were properly trained, they would join the legions of the Imperium.

Fiona had balked when she heard that.

"You promised that not all my people would be military," she said, "We had children with us, ones that are not suited."

"And I am sure they will become loyal and excellent citizens of the imperium," the magister said cutting her off.

He smiled again.

"Once their debts have been paid," he added.

Fiona deflated again and fell silent.

Nicholai's eyes narrowed.

Fiona was no fool; she had to know how these…indentured service contracts worked, as least as far as Tevinter was concerned. Magisters always found some way to add on one more month or year to a contract. Before the indentured servant realized it, they had been a slave their whole life. Of course, that meant that this contract would last that long.

Trevelyan suspected that other interested parties would intervene before too long.

"I was in Val Royeaux recently, Magister;" he said conversationally, "Lord Seeker Lucius of the Templar Order recently led his people out of Orlais, claiming that he intended to forge the Templars into a new independent power."

Fiona's elven ears rose in surprise, clearly she did not know that the order had left Val Royeaux, which continued to substantiate her claim to have not been in the capital when Lucius had left.

Nicholai watched the Magister's reaction closely.

"I can't imagine that the Templars will be pleased with your new alliance. You may have to defend it sooner rather than later."

Alexius waved his hand dismissively.

"The Templars are of no concern," he said, "The power available to us makes their threats… _laughable_ at best."

Nicholai made note of the man's reaction, or rather the lack of one.

It was most unusual.

He had fought the Templars tooth and nail for almost a year; he knew what a vicious opponent they could be. He heard that Tevinter Templars were not as well trained, that they were glorified royal guards serving the Tevinter circles with none of the abilities of their southern brethren, perhaps that were the reason for the Magister's dismissal of the Templar threat?

Perhaps.

Had the Tevinters discovered some new weapon to use against the Templars? Had Fiona's people? Lord Seeker Lucius did not seem like the man who would back down, not even in the face of some new weapon. He seemed supremely confident in his abilities.

Why wouldn't the Templars attack Redcliffe? The castle would hold if they did, but it would not be easy getting reinforcements.

Perhaps Alexius knew something about Lucius that the Inquisition did not? It might be worth it to try and find out.

Trevelyan made note to speak with some of the mages living here before he left, he was growing more and more curious about what the Tevinter had offered.

"Since you are here, Magister," he continued, "I suspect that you are willing to at least discuss the possibility of having your new allies aid us against the breach."

"I am willing to discuss the matter of course," he agreed, "Though I must say, the thought of actually closing the breach is a…ambitious idea."

Nicholai shrugged.

"We can't afford to think small," he said with humble smile.

Alexius gestured to the young man in golden robes; his features were close enough to the magister to suggest that they were blood.

"Felix, would you summon a scribe, please," the Magister ordered.

The young man gestured and approached.

Alexius smiled proudly.

"My son, Felix, friends," he said.

Felix bowed slightly to their Inquisition guests.

Nicholai expected more small talk before they got down to business. He could play politics when it suited him, but that did not mean that he enjoyed it. He caught Cassandra giving him a look, she clearly was unhappy with this, but what could they do?

They had come here looking for allies. The least they could do was try to negotiate. They…

Nicholai glanced up and to his right.

Alexius' son teetered and began to fall forward.

Nicholai rose, just managing to catch the young man.

The Magister was on his feet in seconds, a squawk of alarm just escaping his throat.

"Felix,' he gasped.

The young man groaned and managed to find his balance.

He gave Nicholai a sheepish look.

"My apologies, Milord."

Alexius was at his side in seconds.

"Are you alright?"

Felix gave his father a weak smile.

"I'm fine…father."

Still the magister did not look convinced.

I will summon the healers," he said, "We will return to the castle."

He looked over at the former Grand Enchanter.

"Fiona attend me," he ordered.

She nodded and fell into step beside him.

She helped Felix out of the chantry; Alexius remained behind briefly, still looking worried about his son.

"I'm afraid I must table these negotiations for now," he said, "We will continue this matter at a later date."

Nicholai nodded.

"Of course," he said, "Family must come first."

The magister nodded, pleased that Nicholai understood.

He followed after his son and Fiona, clearly concerned for the young man's welfare.

Nicholai sighed.

So much for their negotiations.

"I thought it was you."

Nicholai's brow furrowed, a dark haired mage girl came up to him from one of the tables, her dark eyes cold.

He smiled slightly, he recognized her.

"Hello Linnea," he said, "It has been a while."

The woman snorted.

"I'm surprised you remember my name," she spat.

"Come now," he said, "Don't be like that."

Her frown turned into a scowl.

"Look at you," she said, "I never figured Nicholai Trevelyan to turn on his own kind."

Trevelyan's brow furrowed.

Linnea was from Ostwick, a libertarian, a rather loud one. She had a sharp tongue and never held it, not even in the presence of her fellows. It had kept her from the place she had desired in the circle. She did not play politics, so she had often ended up being marginalized. She had not been a part of his original group, which was a shame, she was a passionate woman.

He had discovered that when they had been apprentices together, in a corner of an abandoned classroom.

The thought made him pause.

It had been a fling, one of several he had had over the years, nothing more, nothing had come out of it. She might have been trying to get him on the side of libertarians, to impress her mentor, or it might have just been just a bit of fun. Regardless, she had ended things not him, though she always acted like it was his fault for some reason. Everything seemed to be his fault, where she was concerned.

Like now.

"I have turned on no one," he said.

"Really," she sneered, "The Inquisition is just Templars by another name."

Trevelyan rolled his eyes.

"Why does everyone think we are part of the chantry," he said, "We left the chantry, they hate us."

Linnea snorted at that.

"Keep telling yourself Nick," she said, "Maybe one day you will believe it."

He glared at her.

"And Tevinter is better?"

She sneered at him.

"People just fear the Imperium because they are ruled by mages. The southern kingdoms want us caged, but they have no problem having us throw fireballs in their wars. No one wants to admit that the Imperium works, its system works, and has for thousands of years."

Nicholai almost shook his head.

"And I suppose the whole blood magic and demon summoning thing does not bother you?" he said dryly.

"More chantry lies to keep us docile," she said, "They are mages like us. What is wrong with blood magic? It is just another form of magic."

Nicholai's jaw almost hit the floor; he knew that Linnea was a firebrand, but this…

What is wrong with blood magic? He had seen _Asch's Crossing_ ; he had seen what a group of crazed apprentices had done, enslaving minds and slaughtering innocents.

He pursed his lips.

If Linnea could say those words with a clear conscience, she had gone farther afield than most.

It was a shame, he thought.

She had been a good woman once.

"Excuse me," he said rejoining his friends.

Linnea called after him.

"That's it Nick," she taunted, "Go back to your chantry masters."

He shook his head.

"Good bye Linnea, he thought.

I hope you see the error of your ways before it is too late.

He paused before the others; they had seen the confrontation between him and Linnea.

"Who was that, Herald," Cassandra asked.

"An old mistake," he said sheepishly.

Gratefully, the Seeker did not push him further on it. After all mages were not the only ones that had skeletons in their closet.

Varric shook his head.

"So," he said grimly, "What do we do now?"

It was a good question, Trevelyan thought, if the mages had sided with Tevinter, they may truly be lost, perhaps they could seek out the Templars after all, convince them to throw off Lord Seeker Lucius' bullshit and get back to actually helping people. Maybe they…

He reached into the pocket of his coat; he was surprised to find a small piece of parchment there.

His brow furrowed as he drew it out. after Cassandra and Vivienne stepped before him, shielding him from view of the mages that remained in the Tavern.

Nicholai's brow furrowed. The Magister's son must have dropped this into his pocket when he fell into him, interesting.

The note was simple and to the point. It read: Come to the Chantry. You are in danger.

He showed it to the dwarf.

"Ooh," Varric grinned, "Curious."

Cassandra read it, and frowned.

"It may be a trap," she said flatly.

"Maybe," Trevelyan agreed, "Still we won't know until we go and see will we?"

He led them out of the Tavern. Blackwall, Solas, and his cousins waited outside.

Trevelyan gathered them, he wanted them to go and speak with any mage willing to talk to them. He wanted to know how popular this alliance with Tevinter truly was among the mages here in Redcliffe. Once they knew that, they would be able to decide what to do next.

As for the letter, he took Cassandra, Varric, and Blackwall with him. If he needed steel to get out of the chantry he was determined to have it.

He shook his head.

He tried to make sense of everything he had seen here and since the Conclave. The Tevinter alliance with the mages, the Templars abandoning Val Royeaux, the disappearance of the Grey Wardens, and the Conclave explosion, it all seemed…connected somehow, or perhaps he was just paranoid.

The Herald sighed.

He feared that somewhere, someone was laughing at them all. All the strange happenings coming one on top of the other, he did not believe in coincidence.

He feared that what they had faced so far was some kind of puppet show, with the Inquisition, the mages, and the Templars dancing on strings. If they were than the question remained…

Who was the puppeteer, who was even that powerful, and what was their end game?

He feared that when all was revealed, it would not be good...

…For any of them.


	34. Another Tevinter

**Chapter 34: Another Tevinter**

The mark on Nicholai's hand sparked and flickered as he first set foot on the chantry steps.

He glanced down, feeling the tingling of the magic there. He had dealt with enough fade rifts by now to know what all that sparking and flickering meant. He glanced over at his fellows. Cassandra and Varric were at his side, as were Vivienne, Blackwall and his cousins. They had not gone immediately to the chantry after they had been dismissed by Alexius; Nicholai had wanted to hear from the mages who now held Redcliffe in the name of the Tevinter Imperium. He had seen none of the imperium's soldiers on the streets, or the mage-officers that commanded them, only members of the mage rebellion.

The consensus among the mages was that they were not in the least happy with the alliance that Fiona had agreed to. Only his old paramour Linea had seemed the least bit pleased, the rest were either sad that the Inquisition had arrived too late, or hopeful that they might find a way to get the mages out of alliance.

The mages had been desperate, and in their desperation they had made a deal that they had not completely understood. Now they were all bound to the Imperium, sworn to join the Imperium's legions.

Nicholai was intent on getting them out of it.

He did not trust Alexius, not one bit. The Magister did not strike him as the charitable sort, so his aid of the rebellion in the short term made little sense. Trevelyan did not know how the man had gotten his forces here so quickly, less than two days after the retreat from the destruction of the Conclave. How could he have known? The speed of that arrival and how quickly the mages had succumbed to Tevinter's offer suggested that more was going on.

Nicholai did not want to start pointing fingers, but coincidences were starting to pile up, and he was not a man who believed in coincidence. The Conclave, the chantry, the Templars, the wardens, and now **this** …a pattern was slowly starting to take shape, the power bases in Thedas were either vanishing, being neutralized, or running off a secret crusade. The arrival of the Imperium here hinted not only of their involvement, but a much larger plan.

But whose plan, what was their game, those were some of the questions they needed to answer.

Hopefully, whoever sent the note would be able to shed at least some light on that.

He opened the door carefully, yet he was still almost felled by the wave of magic that rolled out of the chantry door. As he had expected, the at least a third of the space within the chantry was taken up by a large fade rift. He counted no less than six demons moving among the stone and wood pillars, all caught up in those strange time pockets they had observed outside.

In the center of that, battle a lone man. Clad in foreign yet fine looking robes, with tanned skin, short dark hair and a curled, waxed mustache, the fighter used a mage's staff to knock back advancing demons.

He glanced up as he heard the door open, his expression was quite jovial, despite the danger he was in.

"Ah, you are finally here," he said with a merry smile, "Do be so kind and help me close this thing won't you?"

Nicholai gave the man an arched look, but did not have time to reply as the demons finally noticed his presence.

He lunged into the room, drawing his staff and blade. Cassandra and Byron fought at his side, while Varric, Evelyn and Vivienne added their power to the cause. Blackwall, Sera, and Solas had remained outside, just in case someone was watching the chantry, watching and preparing to spring a trap. The foreign mage proved to be quite skilled, he recognized the time pockets for what they were and used them to his advantage. One of the shades did manage to get behind him, but Byron cut the beast down before it had a chance to wound its intended victim. The mage and his young cousin exchanged a brief nod and went back to work.

As demons fell, larger, more powerful ones tried to step through the rift. Trevelyan reached out with the mark, stunning them and driving them back into the rift. When all was clear, he reached out again with the mark, seeking to unravel it, and force it closed. Again the strangeness of this new kind of rift reached out to him, forcing him to pour more of his will into it. What he felt here did not feel as random as the rifts in the Hinterlands had felt, they felt…more deliberate somehow.

Whether they were random or not, Nicholai did not waste any time or strength, he pushed harder with the mark on his hand.

The rift closed with a loud, thunderclap-like, boom.

His success left Nicholai winded, but grinning.

The foreign mage turned, looking at him with an appraising eye…

Nicholai stood up straight trying not to appear weakened in any way.

The mage's fingers straightened the curl of his mustache, returning it to a presentable shape, his mind however seemed all focused on Trevelyan and what he had just done.

The man tilted his head slightly.

"Astonishing," he murmured, "How does that work exactly?"

Nicholai did not respond; he was not really sure how to put closing a rift into words.

The foreigner chuckled.

"You don't really know do you? You just wiggle your fingers and boom! A rift closes."

Trevelyan snorted.

"I know it works," he said, "That is enough for now, Before I answer any of your questions, perhaps you will answer one of my own."

Trevelyan smiled slightly.

"Like who you are, that is a good a place to start as any."

The other mage laughed sheepishly.

"Of course, where are my manners," he said bowing slightly, "Dorian of House Pavus, formerly of Minrathous, how do you do?"

Trevelyan, out of habit of his noble upbringing returned the bow.

"Nicholai Trevelyan, formerly of Ostwick, I take it you are a magister as well?"

The Tevinter sighed.

"Okay," he said, "I will say this once. I'm a mage of Tevinter, but not a member of the Magisterium. I know you in the south like to use the term interchangeably, but that just makes you all sound more and more like barbarians."

He gave this Dorian an arched look, not really sure how to respond.

Cassandra beat him to it.

"Another Tevinter," she said coldly, "be wary."

If Dorian was insulted, he did not show it, he merely gave Cassandra a winning smile.

"Suspicious friends you have," he commented dryly, "since you are here I trust that you got my note?"

"I did indeed," Nicholai answered, "I take it that you gave it to Felix, who in turn gave it to me."

"Felix is an old friend," Dorian said, "He should be joining us shortly, once he gives his father the slip of course."

"Is something wrong with Felix?" Nicholai asked, "His father did not hesitate to jump to his aid fast enough?"

Some of Dorian's cheer faded at that.

"Felix is an only child, and he has had a lingering illness for months, Alexius was likely just being a mother hen."

"Your note said that we were in danger Tevinter," Cassandra interrupted, "If that is so, then please enlighten us. I suspect that it will not be long before the Magister learns that we are here."

Dorian gave her a wide smile.

"So business-like," he said, "But also correct, I suppose. Okay then, where to start…oh yes. I take it that you have discovered for yourselves the differences in the rifts in Redcliffe from other places, yes?"

Nicholai nodded.

'I'm afraid that Alexius has something to do with that. He was my mentor once you see. Together we researched theories involving time magic, travelling back and forth. I believe that Alexius had finally fine-tuned those spells, gotten them to work, and has used them to secure the loyalty of the mage rebellion out from under you."

Nicholai's eyes narrowed slightly.

Time magic, he thought, was it even possible?

Vivienne did not seem to agree.

"Manipulate time **itself** ," she laughed, "Many fools have tried it in the past, but none of them has succeeded."

Evelyn was not so sure.

"There have been studies," she said, "Using the powers of the fade directly yielded some results. Some spirit mediums have focused on that, they tried calling magic from across the veil, using spirits as channels."

"Those studies only warped peoples' _perception_ of time, Enchanter, not time itself," Vivienne reminded her.

Dorian did not let himself get drawn into their argument, he remained focused on Trevelyan.

"I know what I'm talking about," he said, "You have seen the effects that rift had, speeding things up while slowing others down. Back in Tevinter Alexius could never get it to work, but now…"

Nicholai's face became a grim line.

"He used the magic to get here first, to arrive just after the Divine died?"

"You noticed that too, good," Dorian said dryly, "I think it is safe to say that Alexius twisted time itself to get here. To arrive in the hour of the mages' greatest need, as if by magic, which is what it was."

The Tevinter shook his head.

"I thought he had more sense than this. The magic that Alexius is using is extremely unstable. It could unravel the entire world if left unchecked.

"You fear that these effects will spread that these…'pockets will show up elsewhere?"

"Farther and farther from Redcliffe I suspect," Dorian sighed, "Alexius must know the danger, yet he continues to ignore it, and all to recruit a few hundred lackeys."

"He did not do it for them."

They turned as Felix made his way through a side door, the young man no longer seemed weak or fawning; his expression grim and determined.

Dorian grinned at him.

"Took you long enough," he quipped.

Felix sighed.

"I should not have played the illness card," he said, "I feared that father would be fussing over me all night."

He turned to Nicholai.

"It is good to finally meet you, Herald," he said, "I hope that you will find it in your heart to show my father mercy for what he has done."

"And just what has your father done?" Trevelyan asked, "Is it any worse than what Dorian claims."

Felix sighed heavily.

"My father has joined a cult, a group of Tevinter supremacists, they call themselves Venatori. All that has happened here, he has done for them."

"Really," Nicholai said coldly, "and just what does a Tevinter cult want with the mages and Redcliffe."

"The usual desires I suspect," Felix said, "Restoration of the Imperium, the return of the glory days, and apparently they want you, they seem to be obsessed with you."

"Me?" the realization surprised him.

"Why would they care about me?"

"You can close the rifts," Dorian said, "perhaps the Venatori's plans depend on their continued existence."

"And you survived the destruction of the temple of the Sacred Ashes," Felix added, "Either reason could be why the Venatori are so interested in you."

"Perhaps it goes deeper than that," Cassandra said grimly, "If these…Venatori were behind the destruction of the Conclave…"

"If they were," Felix added, "then they are far more dangerous than even my father realizes."

Nicholai's anger started to rise. They had a name now, a suspect, these…Venatori; Tevinter supremacists Felix had called them. Were they the same Tevinters that came to the mages during the siege of Tantervale, if they were then what happened there started to make a bit more sense. He was starting to realize why the siege in Tantervale had to fail. The mages in the Free Marches had stood alone, not allied with the rest of the rebellion, if Alexius was part of the same group, they may have wished to have the mage rebellion centralized, eliminating the second front that Nicholai and his allies had created served tactical purpose, that and it had killed many of his friends…

Both anger and magic flashed in Trevelyan's eyes.

It all this was true, he would see these Venatori answer for what they had done, all of them.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked Felix, "Alexius is your father. Why do you oppose him?"

The young man sighed.

"For the same reason that Dorian does," he answered, "I love my father, and I love my country, but the Venatori, time magic, what they have dragged my father into is madness. I have to try and save him, even if it is from himself."

Nicholai frowned.

He knew where the boy was coming from, despite everything that had happened. Nicholai Trevelyan still loved his father. He wanted to believe the best of him even when he heard the worst.

One day, he realized, he would need to confront his father about the assassination attempt. Whether his father truly wanted it or not, he had sent Song to do the deed.

They would need to speak about this one day, a talk that neither man was likely to enjoy.

He looked at Felix, his expression pained.

"I…I will do what I can," he promised, "Though I don't think that your father is the type to listen to reason."

"He was," Felix said morosely, "Once."

"You will eventually have to confront Alexius," Dorian reminded them both, "But you won't be able to get past his spells without help that is where I come in."

He grinned broadly.

"When you face him, I want to be there."

Nicholai shook his head.

It was hard to believe that Alexius had recruited the mage rebellion just to draw him into a trap, yet everything else that had happened to him lately seemed equally unbelievable.

"All this trouble just to get to me," he said dryly, "And I did not bother to get Alexius anything."

Dorian laughed slightly.

"Get him a fruit basket," he quipped "Everyone **loves** those."

He turned to leave, but not before putting up some kind of masking spell, Trevelyan noticed how small it made Dorian appear when trying to sense the other man's magic.

"I will meet you back in Haven," he promised.

Before he left he turned to his old friend one last time.

"Oh and Felix," he said, "Try not to get yourself killed."

The Magister's son sighed.

"There are worse things than dying Dorian."

Felix slipped through the door that he had entered, leaving Trevelyan and his allies alone.

Nicholai tried not to feel overwhelmed.

Tevinter cults and time magic, he thought.

Blessed Andraste, what have you dropped me into?

Vivienne sneered at what they had learned.

"So Fiona and her malcontents have fallen in with Tevinter and joined a cult."

The Enchantress shook her head.

"Why am I not surprised?"

Cassandra gave Nicholai a deep frown.

"We need to return to Haven, tell the others what we have learned."

Nicholai nodded.

In this the Seeker was right.

They needed to return.

They needed to come up with a plan of attack.


	35. A Dreamer

**Chapter 35: A Dreamer**

 _The Herald of Andraste rode her war charger right up to the steps of the Empress' palace. Armed and armored, the Herald shone like the star, her silverite and gold plating reflecting the light of the afternoon sun._

 _The journey through Val Royeaux had been a strange one. As she had ridden past, merchants, peasants, highborn and low had all bowed to her as she passed, all bowed their heads in reverence to Andraste's champion, the Maker's champion._

 _As she came to the steps of the palace, the empress and the royal court awaited her. Advisors, lords and servants fell before her on bended knee, paying homage to the legendary hero that had sealed the breach and saved all of Thedas._

 _Only the Empress did not bow. The lioness of House Valmont remained proud and strong, but even she was not above paying tribute to the Herald. She took off her pearl and silver mask, and dipped her head, not a bow; the Empress was not the type to bow to anyone..._

 _What she was offering was not lost on the Herald, she was too wise not to recognize it for what it was, gratitude, offered by one of the most powerful women in Thedas._

 _The Herald dismounted and removed her silverite helm; her long blonde hair fell to the small of her back. Her green eyes sparkled with unshed tears, moved by the show of gratitude that the people of Orlais and indeed all of Thedas had offered her._

 _As she climbed the steps towards the assemblage of highborn she could hear the people chanting her name throughout the city, honoring her even more._

 _The chant filled the air, like the music sang from the great halls of the Grand Cathedral, her name echoed perhaps even loud enough to be heard by the absent Maker._

" _Rhaena, Rhaena, Rhaena."_

 _Rhaena made her way to the stand before the empress, who finally spoke and said…_

IOI

"Rhaena?"

The girl startled, she glanced around, confused for a second, waking from the most honeyed of daydreams. As the real world returned, her hands flung outward, almost knocking over a half filled drinking cup of water, not to mention almost soaking and ruining the reports she had been checking.

Any thought of being a warrior like her cousins and siblings faded as she returned to reality.

Embarrassment set in.

"Huh," she gasped, "What?"

She glanced up to see Ambassador Montilyet and Researcher Minaeve staring at her.

The girl blushed pure scarlet.

"Uh…yes," she coughed, trying not to embarrass herself any further, "um…what were you saying Ambassador?"

Lady Josephine gave her an arched look, while Minaeve returned to her work, speaking with one of her tranquil assistants, though she did cover her mouth with one of the long sleeves of her robe, probably to hide the fact that she was smiling.

It was kind of her, Rhaena thought...

At least the researcher was not going to try and embarrass her further.

She tried not to look Lady Montilyet in the eye, not wishing to see the look of disappointment there.

She had made a good impression on the Ambassador when she had first arrived in Haven, a good impression that she was trying hard not to squander. Lady Montilyet was greatly impressed by her knowledge of both language and numbers and had taken her into her service as an attaché, whatever that was supposed to mean.

So far it seemed to mean that she was now the Ambassador's secretary, a position that did not bother her; she had been her father's secretary since she had been fifteen. She had no problem writing papers and working behind a desk. Hopefully, this little…incident would not cost her this job.

She tried very hard not to frown.

She hoped her daydreams had not lost the good will of the Inquisition's ambassador. It was not like she had many options after all.

Despite her fantasies, she was _**no**_ warrior.

She had tried once or twice. Byron had shown a talent for the warrior's arts since the age of five. As soon as he was skilled enough to hold a stick he began his training, as the sixth born child, including Evelyn even though she had been sent to the Circle, Van Trevelyan's line had been secure. He tried to teach her weapons, but it had never worked out. Her brother had tried to teach her the sword but she was uncomfortable with it. She tried to learn daggers from one of the sailors that served her father, but she was just too nervous, breaking in to fits of giggles during a fight could be hazardous to any fighter. Then she tried to learn the bow. The thought still made her cringe, Andraste save anyone who was around when she was trying to learn to use a bow. After that debacle, she had given up on the warrior arts, focused on what she was good at.

When it came to the quill, she was more than proficient, as Lady Montilyet would soon see.

"I would like to look at the reports Quartermaster Threnn sent," the Ambassador said, "We will need to see what resources we have available for when the next lord visits."

Rhaena smiled slightly; in this she could at least claim competence. Some might have called the Quartermaster's reports a mess, but it had not been difficult for Rhaena to sort through the numbers and even find a few supplies that the other woman had missed.

"Here they are Ambassador," she said handing her the parchment, "The numbers all look solid."

The ambassador gave her another stern look.

"They _**are**_ solid," Rhaena repeated with more certainty.

"Hm," the Ambassador said, and began to check the younger girl's work. Some might have been intimidated by this, but not Rhaena.

The Ambassador might have caught her daydreaming, but she had only started that when she was sure her work was done. People could say what they wanted about her, but they could not excuse of her of being dim.

Rhaena Trevelyan _**knew**_ how to handle forms and numbers.

The door to their room in the chantry opened. Sister Leliana entered, followed by one of her agents, she whispered in the man's ear, and sent him off on, what Rhaena thought was, another very important mission.

She lowered her head, trying very hard not to catch the Nightingale's attention. The people of Haven greatly respected Sister Leliana and those that did not _**feared**_ her. For Rhaena, who had spent much of her childhood in Denerim, being around the other woman was like being in the presence of a living legend. A thousand questions about the blight ten years ago swam into her head every time she was around the Nightingale, not that she had ever worked up the courage to ask them.

She suspected that Leliana had spent too much time in the last decade answering questions about the Blight and her companions. Rhaena had no intention of looking like some bumpkin seeking war stories from a fabled hero.

"This is good," she heard the Ambassador murmur to herself; "This is very good."

She looked to her new attaché.

"I see you were listening when you heard that Lady Corbin prefers Antivan red wine, your choice to put that near the top was…fortuitous."

Rhaena smiled, basking in the lady's praise.

"The demon is in the details, as my lord father always liked to say."

The Ambassador nodded.

"Ours is not the most exciting work, but it is necessary," she added, "You have done well so far, but you should try not to get distracted, much depends on us as the Inquisition grows."

It was a minor rebuke, but it still made Rhaena's face burn.

Fortunately, someone came to her defense.

"Don't be too hard on the girl Josie," Leliana set with an amused smile. "We all need a little escape once and a while, and besides, she is young."

The spymaster gave her a mischievous look.

"Let her find pleasure where she can in these difficult times."

Again Rhaena lowered her eyes.

She had been unaware that the Nightingale had been watching her.

The ambassador kept her busy, when she wasn't doing paperwork; she was often at Lady Josephine's side, greeting this representative, or that lord. In the three weeks she had been here she had likely seen more lords and ladies than father had seen in half a year. Most of those coming to see the Inquisition were young men, knights and lords evaluating if the Inquisition was worth their trouble, and usually, the Ambassador got their support. She was a talented negotiator, but that did not mean that she was not above using Rhaena's presence as a distraction, and make no mistake, some lords were… _distracted_ by her presence.

When she wasn't working she spent her time in Flissa's, listening to the stories that the soldiers were bringing back from the front. Most of these stories had set her daydreaming, but a few sounded like they were important enough that she began to right them down. Her mother had left her with an interest in music and dance, and several of the stories she heard sounded like they would make good songs. The kind of tales that a skilled minstrel could sing to the common folk, songs that would help bolster the Inquisition's image. She was no composer herself, but perhaps she would speak with the singer working in Flissa's, perhaps they could come to some kind of arrangement.

The last time she had been in Flissa's the commander had come in with two of his men. She had hoped to get his attention, apologize for their rather awkward first meeting. Ser Cullen had been respectful, but he had excused himself quickly.

If she was working closely with Ambassador Montilyet, she felt that she needed to be on good terms with everyone on the ruling Council. Ladies Montilyet and Nightingale seemed to like her. She had only seen Seeker Pentaghast in passing, but that was likely a good thing. Cousin Natalya had warned her to be cautious of her, saying that given her…relationship with the Seeker that Rhaena would find no ally there. Cousin Nicholai seemed open, he knew little of the Ferelden branch of their family, and had had many questions. Cullen was…well…the commander remained a mystery.

She looked to the two women who worked closely with him.

"May I ask a question Sister?"

Leliana turned to her.

"Of course," the Nightingale replied, awaiting her words.

Rhaena fidgeted slightly, trying not to phrase what she wanted in a way that would insult such a legendary hero.

"Since I'm working so closely with Ambassador Montilyet, I was wondering if you could give me some advice on Commander Cullen."

The sister gave her an arched look.

"Perhaps," she said, "What type of advice are you looking for?"

Rhaena's brow furrowed.

"I get the feeling that the Commander is avoiding me," she said, "I was wondering if I had done something to offend him. I have no desire to get started on the wrong foot with anyone here."

She lowered her head slightly.

"Have I done something wrong?"

Leliana's response surprised her a bit.

The Nightingale laughed lightly, quickly covering her mouth to hide any further amusement. Even Lady Josephine seemed to stifle a grin.

The reaction confused the girl.

"You have done nothing wrong," the Ambassador assured her, "The commander is…uncomfortable in certain situations, his life as a Templar never prepared him for certain… _social_ interactions."

"That is the polite way to say it," Leliana added, "The more honest answer is that our Commander is…uncomfortable around beautiful women."

The Nightingale smiled slyly.

"He finds them…distracting."

Rhaena gave them both a curious look.

"He seems fine around you both and Seeker Pentaghast."

They both smiled at her comment, accepting the unspoken compliment about them being beautiful women.

"We are part of the Inquisition's command chain," Josephine reminded her. "What we share with the commander is all business, and that allows him to stay focused on the job at hand."

"It is his life outside of business that causes our Commander stress," Leliana added, "He spent most of his life in the order, since he was thirteen if I heard him correctly, and so he is… _uncomfortable_ dealing with anyone outside of it, especially when it doesn't involve talk of business. When he served in Kirkwall, he barely left the Gallows. Never visited a tavern or…any _other establishment_ , or so my people informed me."

Rhaena did not need to ask what the _**other establishment**_ the Nightingale meant. She had grown up around sailors after all. She understood very well what most in the sailing community referred to as… _the pleasures of the port_.

Hearing the Sister's words did give her an idea of who the Commander was and why he behaved around her the way he did, but it did not tell her how she could make things better between them.

"I have no desire to make him uncomfortable," Rhaena said, "I'm just trying to be civil."

"He will get comfortable with you in time, Rhaena," Josephine assured her, "Just give him time."

The Ambassador's assurance did make her feel a little better.

She had no desire to spend her time here having the commander dodge her.

"If you will indulge _**my**_ curiosity," Leliana said with a gentle smile, "Why so much interest in our dear commander?"

Her smile turned slyer.

"Do you have some _**intentions**_ there, young Lady Trevelyan?"

Rhaena's face turned bright red.

"Um…of course not," she said quickly, "The Commander is quite handsome, but…he is…ah…the commander after all. I have…um…no intentions…nothing like that. Nope. It is better he stay where…he is…um…is…commanding and all that."

She feared that the two women would laugh at her reaction, or tease her, but they said no more on the subject, returning to their own private conversation and letting her get back to work, she pulled out another piece of parchment, this from Corporal Vale's people in the Hinterlands. They had made some requests, and wanted to get fresh supplies in before the next snowfall.

She tried not to think about the Nightingale's question.

She had come here to the Inquisition to serve, to do some good. She had not come here to hunt knights, no matter how handsome or delicious they seemed.

She sat up straighter and pushed away any daydreams before they could form.

I need to focus, she thought.

I have work to do.


	36. Horns Up

**Chapter 36: Horns Up**

Thunder rumbled overhead as Nicholai watched the carnage going on below them. This first visit to the Stormcoast had not been planned, but considering Kurtz's unexpected message, he felt it a good idea that he put in an appearance.

They had just left Redcliffe and been preparing to return to Haven, the war council needed to be consulted on what they had learned about Magister Alexius and his people, not to mention the fact that his former apprentice had offered to aid them in dealing with the Magister. If it had simply been his call, Trevelyan might have accepted Dorian of House Pavus at his word, but that was not his call to make. The others needed to be consulted first.

They had arrived back at their camp at the Rebel Queen's Ravine to discover that Kurtz was waiting for them. The sell-sword had thought what he had learned in Haven was important enough that he should discuss the matter with both Cassandra and Nicholai personally.

Three days ago, a young soldier from the Bull's Chargers mercenary company had turned up in Haven offering him their services. Normally, Kurtz would have just passed this matter onto Cullen and let it go at that, but given what he had heard during his own mercenary work about the Bull's Chargers he had thought it wiser to go right to the top, which the soldier from the company had suggested anyway.

"They're a good band lad," Kurtz had said after he had finished giving his report, "Never worked with them myself, but I've heard plenty of stories. Professional, tough, these Charger boys don't break contracts, which puts them over on a lot of the companies running around out there."

"Interesting," Cassandra agreed, "But that does not explain why you thought it important enough to ride all the way here to tell us in person."

"It wasn't the offer, so much as the fact that it was offered," the sell-sword replied.

He looked Nicholai in the eye.

"These guys don't usually reach out to clients, they don't get involved in politics, the fact that they have now is a good enough reason that we should at least take a good long look at them. They're currently stationed on the Stormcoast, awaiting a group of Tevinter mercenaries, or so the soldier they sent claimed."

Nicholai glanced over at Cassandra. Her brow furrowed slightly.

 _Tevinter mercenaries, eh_ , Nicholai thought.

 _Wasn't that_ _ **interesting**_ _?_

He could not say for certain that those mercenaries would be heading to Redcliffe if left unchecked, but it was a reasonably good bet. If the Inquisition _**did**_ end up opposing Alexius it might be a good idea to deny him a few blades.

He glanced again at Cassandra, no words passed between them, but they were not needed. Cassandra was a skilled warrior.

She had likely come to the same conclusion that he had. That and their time together had started to give them a sense of what the other was thinking; it was not mind reading, simply a familiarity with each other.

It was an intimacy that neither would admit to, even under torture.

"You should return to Haven, inform the council what is going on in Redcliffe."

"If you are going to do this, you should wait a day or two, have Harding's people go in first…secure the area."

Nicholai nodded. It was a wise suggestion.

"Make sure to pass on Alexius' apprentice's information, the others need to know."

"I shall," she said, "Though it may be wiser to forget Redcliffe and go in search of the Templars."

"I will leave that to the council," he said, "For now, just pass the information along."

Again she gave him a curt nod.

"You should take some of our allies with you, just to be safe."

"I will ask for volunteers," he said.

Cassandra placed her hand over her heart and bowed her head to him.

"Until we meet again Herald," she said, "Maker watch over you."

"And over you," he replied.

After she had left, he turned to see Kurtz giving him an arched look.

"What?" Nicholai asked.

The sell-sword chuckled.

"Not a thing lad," he said jovially.

"Not a single damn thing."

IOI

So Trevelyan began his journey to the Stormcoast. Blackwall, Sera, Varric, Byron and Evelyn accompanied him and Kurtz. During the course of their journey the sell-sword had shared all he knew about the Bull's Chargers with his old employer. They were a well-respected group that primarily worked in Orlais and Nevarra. Their leader was a Qunari, one of the big horned ones, not simply one of the dark skinned giants that usually ended up working as mercenaries outside their territory. His name, according to Kurtz, was the Iron Bull.

Trevelyan frowned slightly.

As a boy in Ostwick he had heard many horror stories about the Qunari. They were typically the monsters in the bed time stories that parents used to scare children. The taking of Kirkwall during the last Qunari war had left a mark on the Free Marches. Tales of families ripped apart, of people left almost mindless, reduced to carrying out only the simplest of chores after harsh Qunari punishments. People, who even after the liberation had been left so broken that they seemed to no longer have any free will at all.

It was those stories that had motivated the citizens of Ostwick to strengthen their double walls.

Then there had been the Qunari attack of seven years ago. The Arishok's raid on Kirkwall had left a Viscount dead and a city in chaos. The Champion of Kirkwall had risen and defeated the ox-men, but the attack had reminded everyone in the Marches why the Qunari were to be feared. Viscount Dumar had let them in as guests and they had betrayed that hospitality, butchering him in his own keep, rewarding his kindness with brutality and murder.

Nicholai grimaced. He figured that the concept of "guest right" was not held very sacred by the followers of the Qun. Fortunately, Varric's friend Hawke had taught them what betraying ones host got you in Thedas.

Now they would have to parlay with one of the ox-men, at his request no less.

Nicholai pursed his lips.

Hopefully, the man would be agreeable.

They made good time on their journey north; they avoided crossing paths with any Ferelden patrols, but did come to the aid of several citizens when confronted by fade rifts. Nicholai sealed them quickly, and did what he could for any of the demon's victims. They gave the tower of Kinloch Hold a wide berth, just in case any Templars remained inside.

Evelyn thought that wise, she was not sure exactly what side that Knight-Commander Greagoir, the Templar who ran Kinloch Hold, had come down on during the rebellion. The Ferelden tower had been left more open than some circles due to the privileges won during the Blight. That openness had made it easier for the mages to escape when the rebellion began, but that did not mean that it would be safe for, what the Templars believed to be rogue apostates, to travel unhindered.

Nicholai tried to question his cousin further about her former circle, but she stopped him with that icy look of hers.

"Details do not matter," she said, "They ripped my babe from my arms only minutes after he first drew breath, my only real memory of him is his cries as they carried him off, carried him off and I never saw him again. That she let you know what kind of a place that Kinloch Hold was, cousin."

He fell silent.

Evelyn did know how to make a point.

They caught up with Harding's people on the Stormcoast. As it turns out, the Inquisition had already had at least a minor presence on the coastland. Sister Leliana's agents had learned of grey wardens being seen in the area, and had sent her agents in to Investigate, agents that had not returned.

Scout Harding had mentioned that there were mercenaries living in the forest, not the mercenaries they were looking for, but a different company, the Bull's Chargers had not moved from the coast. They were still waiting for their prey to arrive.

Blackwall was eager to search for the wardens, and anything that they might have left behind. Byron was equally eager. The young warrior wanted to test his blade against the mercenaries that were living in the forest, he was convinced that the Inquisition's people had come to harm from them.

"One thing at a time cousin," Nicholai said trying to calm him, "One _**fight**_ at a time."

His words worked in the short term, though Evelyn rolled her eyes at her younger sibling's eagerness to get blood on his blade.

When word of the Bull's Chargers moving against the newly arrived Tevinters came, Nicholai and his followers found a good high point to observe the battle from.

The chargers had invited him to watch after all, so that is what he intended to do.

"We're not going to join in the attack?" Byron asked.

"We may still have to negotiate with Magister Alexius, cousin," Nicholai reminded him, "Having his men's blood on our hands might make that a bit…awkward."

"Yet we are not going to aid the Tevinters," Evelyn asked.

""We're not allied with Tevinter," he reminded her, "Whatever these men have done to earn the chargers' wrath is not our concern."

The Herald shrugged.

"We can't get involved, but that does not mean that we cannot watch."

At his side Varric chuckled.

"Spoken like a true politician," he said.

Again the mage shrugged.

"I can play that game if I need to," he admitted.

"Look at _**that**_ ," Sera cackled, "That archer got 'em right in the plums."

The elven archer laughed manically.

Evelyn gave her a cool look.

"You have issues," she said.

The elf grinned madly at her.

Nicholai tried to ignore the exchange, his focus was on the battle below.

He had to admit, he was _impressed._

He spotted a huge gray skinned Qunari warrior in the middle of the fight. His horns jutted out of his head like a Bull's, horns as long as man's arm. He wielded his battle ax like he had been born with it in his hand, cutting down any who were foolish enough to move into his reach. Yet he was no mad berserker, even from here Nicholai could hear him barking orders to his people, orders that were slowly dividing and cutting the Tevinter soldiers to pieces.

 _Kurtz was right,_ Nicholai thought.

 _These Chargers are professionals._

It did not take long to leave only a single Tevinter soldier standing against the full might of the Chargers. Nicholai glanced around the battlefield; the only bodies he saw wore Tevinter colors. It did not look like the chargers had lost a single man. It was an impressive display of teamwork to be sure.

He felt a little sorry for the last Tevinter; he could see the desperation in the man's movement, the hopelessness as he jerked his head around looking for aid that was no longer there.

Finally, in his desperation, the soldier howled and charged; a charge ended by a single swipe of the Qunari warrior's battle ax. The man fell, cut nearly in two by a single overhand chop.

After that, the battlefield fell silent.

The Qunari looked around and bellowed in commanding voice.

" **CHARGERS STAND DOWN!"**

Nicholai smiled slightly.

"Let's go introduce ourselves," he said, "Weapons sheathed everyone, the Chargers probably know we are here, but let's not risk any misunderstanding.

He led his people down the rocky slope. Sera and Varric close behind him, the elf only had eyes for the large Qunari.

"You think their women get that big?" she asked.

"I suppose so," Nicholai said.

His words made her giggle manically.

"Wow," she murmured, "Just…WOW!"

Trevelyan did his best to straighten his coat as he finally reached the bottom of the hill; the charger's rear guard had noticed their approach and ran to their leader, informing him of their arrival.

The Qunari did not hesitate; he walked right up them accompanied by a tanned skinned man in free soldier's armor. Now that they were closer, Nicholai could make out more of ox-men's features, his gray skin was marred with scars, suggesting that he had spent a long time in combat, an eye patch covered part of his face, which was the only real weakness that Trevelyan could legitimately claim that he could see.

Nicholai put on his most winning smile. He expected the Qunari leader to be as dour as he had heard the man's people were. Varric had told him about Hawke's encounters with the Arishok back in Kirkwall, he expected much of the same from this Qunari commander. He figured that the man would say only what was needed to be said, and with only enough words as necessary.

He was a bit surprised when the large warrior gave him a boisterous grin.

"You must be the Inquisition," he said in a jovial voice, "Glad you could make it, have a seat, the boys are breaking out the casks, and drinks are coming."

The man's welcome caught him off guard, but Nicholai was quick to adapt.

"Thank," he said with a slight bow, "Iron Bull, I presume?"

The Qunari chuckled.

"Actually it is _**the**_ Iron Bull," he said, "Most people put the **'the'** in there. Makes people think I'm some out of control engine of destruction."

Nicholai snickered.

"I know something about titles myself," he said, "Nicholai Trevelyan, also known as 'the' Herald of Andraste."

Iron Bull's smile widened.

"So you are the mage that has gotten the chantry mother's knickers all in a twist," he said, "I suppose they don't know what to make of a mage chosen by their high and mighty."

Nicholai shrugged.

"I'm just trying to do what is right," he said.

The soldier that had followed Bull finally approached. The Qunari grinned at the young man.

"This is Cremisius Aclassi," he said, "my lieutenant."

"Pleased to meet you at last," the young soldier said to Trevelyan, "The throat cutters are finished, chief."

Bull's smile faltered slightly.

"Tell them to make double sure, we don't want any of those Tevinter bastards getting up again, no offense Krem," he said with a slight laugh.

"None taken," the soldier replied with a smirk, "At least a bastard knows who his mother was, puts us one up on you Qunari right?"

From the way the Charger's commander laughed, Nicholai assumed such insolence was common. So far Bull was not turning out to be what he expected.

"Your chargers seem to be a good group," Trevelyan said.

"They are," Bull agreed.

"I understand you are looking for work?"

"I am, just not until after drinks are done," the Qunari chuckled, "But you won't just be getting the boys, you will be getting me."

Nicholai gave him an arched look.

"Not looking to remain in command of your people?"

"I will be in command of them," Bull clarified, "But the way I see it you could use a front line bodyguard. Demons, dragons, I can handle them all, the bigger the better."

Trevelyan nodded, he could see the value of having the man at his side, and the intimidation factor alone would be enough to avoid at least some fights.

"There is something else too," Bull added, his expression becoming more serious, "Could be useful, probably gonna piss you off. Have you ever heard of the Ben Hassrath?"

Nicholai frowned slightly; he had heard the name before, in passing.

"They are the internal security for the Qunari, at least that what I heard during my time in the circle, and in Ostwick. They are the Qunari's enforcers or city watch."

Iron Bull sighed.

"Spies are a better name, that is them, or well…us."

He frowned slightly as he explained what was going on.

"I've been ordered to infiltrate the Inquisition, get close to the people in charge, and send back regular reports on their movements, but I also get reports from fellow agents, you sign me on, I will share them with you."

Nicholai's jaw almost hit the floor.

"You are a Qunari spy, and you just…just…told me?!"

Iron Bull shrugged.

"You would have found out sooner or later, I would rather be open with you up front, so you know I'm not lying. The Qunari are seriously concerned about the Breach, magic flowing unchecked. They are no doubt considering launching a full invasion, to stop the whole world from falling apart, no one here wants that, not even me."

The Qunari shook his head.

"Whatever happened at that Conclave, it is **bad** , someone has got to get that Breach closed. I'm sure you will second me on that."

Nicholai's head spun.

He should have figured that the Qunari were watching what was happening down here. They had just as much to lose as the rest of Thedas if the breach remained opened. The openness of their agent surprised him, but perhaps that was not a bad thing. If Tevinter was involved in this, extending the hand of peace to the Qunari might not be a bad idea, they had been at war with the Imperium for years, if anyone knew how to fight the Tevinters it was them.

Still, he had a few questions, no doubt Leliana and the rest of the council would ask.

"What would be in these reports you would send back to your people?"

"Enough to keep my superiors satisfied," Bull replied, "Enough to put them at ease."

"And these reports that you would share with us?"

"Troop movements, suspicious activity, intriguing gossip, it is a little bit of everything," Bull shrugged, "But if your spymaster is worth a damn I'm sure she will make good use out of it."

Nicholai gave him an arched look.

"She?"

Bull laughed.

"I did a bit a research, and besides," he grinned widely, "I've always had a thing for red heads."

Trevelyan considered what was on offer.

The Qunari were not the type to extend an open hand to outsiders, after the events in Kirkwall, perhaps this was just what they needed to smooth over any lingering bad feelings about what had happened there, both the Arishok, and the Viscount had lost their lives.

Perhaps this arrangement might be the first step towards a more stable peace.

Nicholai smiled.

"I have to clear the final details with our leaders, but for now, you are in."

"Great," Bull said taking Trevelyan's offered hand.

He turned to his fellows.

" **Krem,"** he shouted, "Tell the boys to get ready to move, _**the Chargers just got hired**_."

"What about the casks, chief," the man responded, "We just opened them up, with axes."

"Find a way to seal them," Bull said, "You're Tevinter right, try blood magic."

Bull went to join his fellows.

"We will see you back at Haven, Herald."

Varric had stayed silent during Nicholai's conversation with Iron Bull; he did not approach until he was sure that the Qunari was out of ear shot.

He gave Nicholai a grim look.

"I saw what those ox-men can do," he said, "You sure this is a good idea?"

"It sounds good in theory," he replied, "Hopefully it works in practice."

Still the dwarf did not look convinced.

"I hope you know what you're doing Nick," he said.

The mage frowned.

"So do I."


	37. Court Life

**Chapter 37: Court Life**

"Send this off to the Nightingale, immediately."

The Inquisition agent bowed his head as he took the letter; his empty hand went to his heart.

"As you command, Holy Sister," he said before executing a smart military turn and heading out into the hall.

Natalya Song smiled slightly. She had come to enjoy the reverence that the common soldiers showed her, and it did not stop there. She had become…something of a minor celebrity here in the capital. The nobles and merchants that frequented the corridors of power were understandably curious about the Inquisition and its Herald. She had already attended three salons in her honor as the ruling class of Ferelden tried to understand what was happening in the south. In these places, she applied her bardic talents well, she told tales of her brother's victories in the Hinterlands. How it was through his just leadership that their fledging organization was restoring peace, protecting the small folk, and waging a successful war against the Breach and the fade rifts that opened in its wake.

For that was her endgame after all, her uncle's words returned to her, how no one would take the Inquisition seriously until it had a strong leader at its head, she could not agree more. When the time came, and it would, to choose an Inquisitor, she intended to put her brother forward, and winning over the hearts and minds of the people was the first step in accomplishing that goal. After all, he was not only the Herald, with power over the rifts, he was a seasoned battle commander, and a proven leader, his defeats during the mage rebellion did not take away from that, the fact that he survived those setbacks were proof enough that he was the most logical candidate to rule, and where her brother went, she would not be far behind.

She knew what it took to make a man powerful, she had seen it in her lord father and his allies, and she knew how to serve powerful men. When the time came, she would serve her brother well.

Of course it was not all parties, sunshine, and rainbows. Civilization was nice with its parties and hot baths, but it was also the home of the darkest of shadows. As the eyes and ears of the Inquisition to the royal court in Denerim, she was now likely the only thing keeping the Ferelden nobles off the Inquisition's back. Their organization was doing what it could to put an end to the chaos caused by the wars and the breach, but that did not mean that they were safe. Chaos provided opportunity, and it set off plots and scheming. It was now her job to make sure the schemes did not get put into motion, and make sure that none of them bore fruit. She and Binder had already stopped two assassination attempts, the Nightingale's network here was impressive, and between her own skills and Binder's, both the assassins and the plotters had been dealt with. Yet with each victory, the job was becoming more dangerous, more dangerous, and becoming increasingly more difficult every day, especially now that Arl Teagan was now actively seeking allies to help him regain his home.

The Tevinter arrival in Redcliffe could not have come at a worse time, she realized. When the Inquisition had reached out to the mages it had looked like they were reaching out to Tevinter as well. The chantry mothers were now crying foul, and the more-faithful of the leadership was listening. She had Binder keeping an eye on them, especially the mother who had verbally attacked her when she had first arrived, but even someone as skilled as the Nightingale's agent could not keep an eye on everyone at once.

Song steepled her finger before her face, her brow furrowed in thought. Any joy she might have had being back in civilization was muted by the troubles that swirled around her. The Inquisition's position was not as secure as she would have preferred it to be. The breach remained, and with the Tevinters now actively working in Redcliffe, the situation was grim.

She had sent off several messages to her brother, advising him on what was going on, and her advice on how to deal with it. She also wrote to her cousins, eager to get their take on the situation. It never hurt to have an extra set of eyes, having three pairs was better still, She knew that Leliana would be reading those letters first, but there was a chance that something might slip through, a piece of information those in the Inquisition leadership did not want her to know. She knew that she was not necessarily trusted, and that distrust made people suspicious. Her cousins were hopefully even now making friends, friends that would not realize that they were still openly corresponding with her. Any affection that the three could gain among the Inquisition was useful; it would allow her to see more than she could on her own.

The thought made her smile slightly.

She had made a mistake when she had first come here, she realized that now. She had been hoping to recruit an already established Trevelyan to her side. Uncle Van would have made a powerful ally, but like most of the lords and merchants here in Denerim he had a stake in seeing things remain as they were. He had no interest in rocking the boat, so to speak. She now believed that she should have gone after the younger members of the family from the start, those with nothing to lose and everything to gain. The idealism of youth was necessary; it helped bring about swift change. She had already sent off several letters to cousins in the Trevelyan family. The young men and women in their extended family might welcome the challenges the Inquisition had to offered, they were likely no different than the three she had recruited here, all with their own motivations. Byron wanted glory, and to make a name for himself. Evelyn wanted revenge for the slights she had suffered in the circle. She had no love for the Templars or her own people, which made her a useful ally should the mages prove unreasonable and unwilling to work with them. She would not complain overmuch if they turned to the Templars to help seal the breach. Rhaena was…

She chuckled to herself.

Rhaena was smart, that was obvious, and useful, but she was also a scandal waiting to happen. The girl's curiosity and playful attitude would make her many friends and admirers. She was also quite beautiful, which was useful in itself. Knights and lords would bend over backwards to win her favor. Her naivety and innocence could cause problems later if some of the lordlings within the Inquisition started fighting over her. She had warned Nicholai about that in her first letter, hopefully her brother would find a good place for their sweet little cousin within the Inquisition ranks, a place where she could serve, and not cause too many problems; a place where she might here things, things that she could pass on to her beloved cousin, Natalya.

She sighed and looked out the window of her room. The King and Queen had been generous. They had offered her full diplomatic protection and quarters. The palace had also provided her with the means to finally make secure contact Ostwick, and her lord Father. She had sent off two letters, one to Bann Pieter, explaining the failure of her original mission, and the second to her lover, Ser Oliver Pentaghast. What her father's reaction to all this would be, she truly could not say. She hoped that he would come to see the value in supporting the Inquisition; the Bann was a smart man, a man who knew a good opportunity when he saw it. He had taken a chance on supporting the Hawke family's rise almost ten years ago, and had profited greatly from it. She hoped he would be as open minded here.

Yet, so far, she had received no reply, no angry rebuke about finishing her mission, or praise for finding a way out of it. That silence was disturbing to be sure, but not so disturbing as the silence she was receiving from her lover.

She had written Oliver twice in the last year, and he had written her back once. The letter had been full of flowery declarations of love and a desire to have her back in his arms again. She had read that letter several times while on the hunt, and it had been the perfect motivator to keep herself going.

She felt worry begin to nag at her. They had made so many plans together, why would he not respond to her now, especially after everything she had done for him in the past. Her elimination of several troublesome family members had put them in a far better position to ascend to the throne, once King Markus died. She had hoped that he, above all others, would understand what she was trying to do in the Inquisition. If Nicholai sealed the breach, and she shared in the spoils of that victory, their future together would no longer be in doubt. Even if father did not recognize her as his true born daughter, what noble family could possibly refuse having the Holy sister of the Herald of Andraste as one of their members? Why would they not wish her to join?

Yet…her beloved remained silent…why?

Did he not understand that she was doing this for them, for the future that they would have together? She had gotten a taste of what the royal life was like recently, it had only whetted her appetite for more.

The king and queen had invited her to sup with them. It was the kind of invitation only a fool would refuse. After their initial conversation at the memorial of the Fifth Blight, Queen Allegra had grown more open to her being here. She likely still did not trust her, but she was at least willing to believe that the Inquisition was not working with the Tevinters.

She had gotten the queen's attention, now she had to reassure the king, make sure that he understood that the Inquisition was not an enemy.

She had been brought to the royal apartments, rather than one of the palace's many dining halls, this of course suggested that the king wished to speak with her alone, it a more personal setting with fewer prying eyes, she took that as a good sign.

She arrived to find something that most in Ferelden rarely saw. Most would expect the king and queen to live in blissful luxury, gold and silver plated furniture, adorned with the finest silks and furs. Alistair and Allegra's home while no peasants' hovel and a… _lived in_ feel, she could sense that this was indeed the place the two had spent their time together and had done so for the last seven or eight years of their marriage. She could certainly see the appeal, she did not feel as…on guard as she had as she stood before the royal court. Here she could talk and know that she would be listened to; this was not the place for lies. This was not a place to impress the nobles, it was a sanctuary where the king and queen could relax and be together. Comfortable well-worn chairs, a shelf of books, some of them looking a bit ragged but still well cared for. The plates and goblets that they drank from, were nicer than most, but were clearly meant for use not show, she noted that the king's cup was slightly chipped on one side, yet he claimed to prefer that above all the others.

The memory made her smile.

King Alistair had a humble sense of humor, and was not above making jokes about himself. Most of these she believed to entertain his wife, and remind her of exactly who she had married. Outside these rooms, Alistair was a hero of the Blight, and a colossus among men, here he could be just a simple man, a friend to his wife, her lover, and father to her children…

…Children that joined them shortly after she had arrived.

The arrival of the Theirin children impressed her most of all. Most nobles chose to live apart from their progeny, let them be raised by governesses and nursemaids. From the way the children reacted to their parents, it was clear that the king and queen chose to keep their family close, and put it first.

The sight made something stir in Natalya's breast, her maternal instincts awakening, perhaps, a longing for a royal family of her own. The children she would one day have with Oliver, she was still young, and would be able to give him many heirs when the time came.

She hoped that her union would be as fruitful as Alistair's was with his Allegra.

There were five of them in all. The oldest Prince Duncan looked about eight or nine, which made sense since he had been born during the first year of their marriage. Prince Anthony, the second born, shared many features of his father and elder brother, both of the prince's looked like Alistair, the only exception being that their hair was far redder than the king's, the result of their mother's blood of course. Princess Cassie, age seven, and the eldest daughter curtseyed before Song, a curtsey that the bard returned, very polite this one was, and even at such a young age considered very devout. These were the three children that most of Ferelden were most familiar with, and had been most pleased with their births. King Maric had only produced one child with his Queen Rowan, and then after the fruitless reign of King Cailan and Anora MacTir, the people had welcomed the arrival of royal heirs into the palace once more.

The youngest of the siblings Princess Portia, age three, and Prince Eamon, age two, had been born after the period that most Fereldans referred to as the troubled times. Alistair had left the kingdom for almost a year, searching for his father, who at the time, had been believed to have been found alive. Queen Allegra had ruled during this period as queen regent, with their friend Warden Alim Surana acting as protector of the realm, and Chancellor Eamon Guerein advising her. The main source of the troubles had come during an event known as the Crowned Mabari Rebellion. King Alistair had always had enemies, but his popularity with the people had protected him. Some had seen opportunity in the king's leaving the country, despite her warden protector. Those enemies found a leader in the year 9:37 Dragon.

A pretender, calling himself Maric the Younger had come to Ferelden with his family from Orlais. Despite his Orlesian blood, he quickly found allies in King Alistair's enemies. He claimed to have been the grandchild of the late King Brandol, along with his teenaged sons and daughter, and almost four hundred swords at his back, these men and women, known as the Crowned Mabari mercenary company had made a lot of trouble for Queen Allegra and her family. Even going so far as plotting to overthrow Alistair and put Maric the Younger on the Ferelden throne. These troubles had persisted for quite some time, the Crowned Mabari were dangerous, especially the false Maric's younger boy, Vickon, many a tale and song was written of Vickon, also known as "Vickon the Violent's" plots and schemes against Alim Surana and his friends. Schemes that were finally ended by the returning King Alistair and his warden elf friend, along with the mad prince's life.

But it was not the past that Song had come here to discuss; it was to win the future. She drank politely with the king and did her best to answer his questions. After dinner, and after the queen and led her children off to bed. The king asked Song to join him for a more private discussion in his study. It was during this meeting that he informed her that he intended to aid his Uncle Arl Teagan in reclaiming Redcliffe from the mages. He now believed that Grand Enchanter Fiona had lied to him.

The king intended to see the mages answer for what they had done.

He said he offered this news as a courtesy, he saw the good works the Inquisition was doing, and he had no desire to see their reputation harmed by supporting the wrong side in what was to come.

Natalya had smiled and thanked him for his concern, even though her mind was now spinning like a whirlwind.

She was not sure what Nicholai was planning to do about the mages, but she now knew they were running out of time, it would take a bit for the king to gather his forces and march on Redcliffe, but when he did…

That night Natalya had composed an emergency letter, the same one that had just left with Binder.

Despite the pleasures of the capital, Natalya cursed silently to herself. She hated the fact that she was so far from the Inquisition leadership. Whatever happened with the mages, she was determined to return to Haven and her brother's side, let Montilyet find someone else to whisper in the king's ear.

History was on the move…

…And she would be damned if she would be left behind.

One thing was certain, she would be returning to her brother's side…

…This…she swore.


	38. Lessons

**Chapter 38: Lessons**

"Are you alright?"

The question sounded ridiculous even as Byron Trevelyan asked it. No, it was certain to say that the young inquisition recruit was **not** alright, not after the young warrior had put the man flat on his back.

The recruit groaned and tried to move his hand. He looked up at Byron with pained eyes. They had been sparing together, Commander Cullen did his best to pair the more experienced swordsmen up with those that showed promise, but needed further training and experience.

The recruit **had** shown promise, and had been a bit of a challenge for the young Trevelyan, but in the end he had fallen for Byron's disarming trick, now the man was on his back in the snow.

Byron had won again, or so it seemed.

The recruit shook his injured hand, perhaps trying to shake of the pain, then trying to pick up his sword but finding out he was unable to.

He looked up at his opponent.

"Dunno," he admitted, "Think…thing you might have broken my wrist."

Frowning Byron leaned down and took the man's hand in his, checking the status of the injury, The man's wrist was red, and already starting to swell and turn a shade of purple, but he did not think it was broke, not from feeling alone.

"Feels like you sprained it," he said, "Not surprising, considering the shape I was in when my brother used that move on me."

The man's brow furrowed.

"Your own brother did this to you?"

Byron nodded.

"Jace is five years old than I," he said, ""He taught me that trick when I was getting a little too cocky with the sword, my wrist was swollen for a week."

The memory made Byron chuckle, though his opponent did not look so amused.

Trevelyan gave him a sheepish look.

"You should go see one of Lady Vivienne's people, one of them will get you fixed right up. After that, I will teach you the counter to that move, just in case you need to disarm some bastard with a sword."

The recruit nodded, his expression surprised. No doubt he had heard a bit about Byron's growing reputation in camp. No doubt his offer to help, seemed like a surprise, and it would have been a few days ago.

That was when Cousin Nicholai had taken him down a peg or two, and looking back…

Byron sighed.

He was pretty sure he had deserved it.

IOI

They had just returned from the Stormcoast, with the Bull's Chargers in tow. Cousin Nicholai had dealt with the mercenaries that had been hindering the Inquisition's operations there, a group calling itself the Blades of Hessarian. Byron had not been with them when they had faced the troublemakers; he had been helping set up the newest Inquisition camp. Cousin Nicholai had left them after having recovered a small medallion from one of the slain mercenaries. According to a note they had found, if an outsider showed up at the Blades' camp wearing it, he or she had the right to challenge their commander for the right of leadership. It was a challenge that the Herald of Andraste could not pass up.

Byron had offered to go along, to fight as his cousin's champion, but the Herald had refused, since he had returned victorious an hour or two later, it seemed that he had been right about needing his younger cousin's aid. Not that Byron was overly surprised by that, he had seen how potent his cousin's spells were, against that…any warrior would be more than outclassed.

Adding the blades to the Inquisition's forces, Cousin Nicholai had next turned his attention to locating a group of Grey Wardens that had supposedly been seen in the area. Byron had not gotten all the details, but from what he gathered from hearing the Herald speaking with their own warden Blackwall, it appeared that the wardens had already moved on long before the Inquisition forces had arrived. From what he had gathered, it seemed that the wardens were looking for someone, who that was, even Blackwall was not sure. Both the warden and the Herald hoped that the clues they had found would lead them to either the man the wardens were searching for, or perhaps the wardens themselves.

Having completed their mission, not to mention closing a few fade rifts, the Inquisition returned to their base in Haven, to plan their next move. Byron hoped that at least one of those moves would be directed at the Tevinter fanatics who had seized control of the mage rebellion. As a Ferelden born and bred warrior, he did not like the thought of foreign soldiers establishing a possible launching point in his homeland. If the magister tried to claim more land for Tevinter, Byron wanted to be ready.

He wanted to a part of the group that brought down this threat. It was not only the right thing to do, but the battle would be glorious…

What else was a warrior to do, but seek glory for himself, to make sure that his great deeds made it into the history books, that his very name became carved in stone, and remembered throughout the centuries…?

…That his name…was remembered forever.

 _Was such a goal worth_ _ **fighting**_ _for? Was it worth_ _ **dying**_ _for?_

Byron…thought that it was.

They had returned to find Commander Cullen looking for new officers to take key positions within the growing Inquisition army. Their numbers continued to expand, with no sign of stopping. Cullen needed subordinates willing to take up the cause of leading these brave souls.

Byron was determined to be one of them.

He had put himself forward, daring any man here to prove himself his better. Several men had taken up the challenge, and he defeated them one by one. These men had spirit and heart, but they were no match for someone who had spent the last three years completing in tourneys and melees throughout the kingdom.

Cullen had watched him carefully as he had dealt with opponent after opponent. The former Templar said nothing, his eyes cool and evaluating.

Byron was determined to impress him.

After four straight victories, the Commander had called a stop. Despite Byron's success he did not seem…impressed in the least by the young warriors skill and tactics. Many of the recruits had gathered round him, hoping to watch one of their own take down Van Trevelyan's youngest son, he ignored their taunts, what did he care.

He was better than anyone here.

They were all just jealous, that was all it was.

Let them stew in their own petty jealousies.

He noticed then that both his sister Rhaena and Cousin Nicholai had taken their place in the crowd. No doubt the Herald was impressed with his skills, why wouldn't he?

It was the pride of House Trevelyan that Byron was upholding, how could he be anything else but impressed?

"You fight well," Cullen said coldly, "You are probably one of the best blades here."

Byron beamed with pride.

"Thank you, ser," he said.

"Yet," Cullen continued, "I still do not see you as officer material."

The rebuke was like a bucket of cold water dumped over his head.

Byron had to resist the urge to glare at the man.

"I will defeat any man you put in front of me," he declared, "Even you, ser."

Commander Cullen's eyes narrowed, he might have thought the boast as simple arrogance, but Byron did not see it that way. He knew how good he was, and what he deserved.

He was determined to take it.

Several of the recruits he had defeated earlier began to cheer for their commander, all but begging him to take Byron down. The young Trevelyan ignored their pleas; he might have ignored them all, until one voice spoke up.

" _ **GO CULLEN!"**_

Both of the men turned to see Rhaena Trevelyan with her fist in the air, declaring herself behind the commander. Her brother's look made her drop her hand quickly, moving it quickly to cover her mouth.

Her cheeks turned scarlet, clearly she had not meant to say those words out loud, but she had. Cousin Nicholai chuckled, clearly amused by Rhaena's reaction.

Her brother glared at her.

 _Go Cullen_ , he mouthed to her.

Her blush darkened further.

Byron looked back and forth between his sister and the Inquisition's commander, he did not know what was worse, his sister cheering on his would-be opponent, or that hint of a pleased smile on the Commander's face.

Byron's eyes narrowed.

Now…he really wanted to knock Commander Cullen on his ass. He did not know what was going on between the man and his little sister, but he would put a stop to it, right now.

He drew his blade and twirled it expertly.

He glared at the former Templar.

Whatever was going on, he would put a stop to it right now.

"Commander!"

They both turned, Nicholai Trevelyan was making his way through the crowd, a cheery smile on his face.

"There is no need to draw your blade," he continued, "I would be happy to test my young cousin here."

Cullen looked between the two Trevelyans; Byron was not sure what the herald was playing at but…

Cullen nodded.

"As you say, Herald," he said taking his hand off his blade.

"As you say."

Byron watched as Nicholai drew a training sword from a rack, he flipped it awkwardly in his hand, clearly not used to the weight.

He smiled sheepishly at Cullen.

"I'm holding the right end, yes?" he asked dryly.

Giggles and muted laughter rippled through the gathering crowd.

Byron gave his cousin a cool look.

"I'm no match for your spells cousin," he said.

The Herald grinned at him.

"Then…I shall not use magic," he said.

He raised his hand, and looked away slightly.

"I swear not to use any magic during our little…lesson here."

He smiled gamely.

"Are you ready, cousin?"

Byron swallowed and set his feet in ready position.

Nicholai did the same; clearly he was still not used to the sword.

Byron did not give him the chance to get used to it.

He struck hard and fast.

Nicholai Trevelyan struck harder.

He clumsily blocked the young warrior's blows, blocked and sidestepped around him.

Byron was not sure what happened, his cousin was far faster than he expected. He had always heard that mages preferred to keep their distance. Maker knew, he had seen his cousin fight enough times to know he preferred to stand back and use his spells to decimate the enemy. He had seen Nicholai use a staff and sword as defense, but only to move demons back so he could either blast them with fire, or turn his holy mark on the fade rift from which they came.

Byron shook his head.

He thought it all but a lucky move on his cousin's part. Luck he was determined to see run out.

He moved again to engage, and again his cousin sidestepped him, moving with a series of stumbling blocks that just got him out of trouble.

The fight went like that for several more minutes. He moved to strike, his cousin would block and evade, strike, block, and evade, strike, block, and evade.

The Herald never lost his smile, during each awkward exchange, slowly Byron felt his patience begin to wear thin, he grew to dislike that smile, and the occasional shrug as if to say, oops, sorry you failed to take me down again.

His patience faded, and with it, his temper.

He managed a quick glance over at Rhaena, she was hardly paying any attention, her eyes continually were being drawn back to the commander.

Finally, Byron lost his temper, he charged in, bringing his most powerful thrust against his holy cousin's defenses.

That…is when the world went out from underneath him.

His holy cousin did not only block his attack, he countered in a move that was nothing but pure hard-earned skill. Byron had only just managed to get his blade up, while the Herald rained down on him with a flurry of well-placed blows. No longer was his cousin handling the sword clumsily, he now wielded it was the cool confidence of an expert swordsman; his blade was an extension of his arm.

It was in that moment that Byron realized the truth. Up this point, his cousin had been playing with him, seeking to make him angry, now that he had…

The Herald of Andraste was coming in for the kill.

Now it was all he could do to defend himself against the elder Trevelyan's attacks. He was blocking now on pure panic alone, his skill all but abandoned, he fought now entirely on instinct. Yet, he did not quit, he had managed to win at least a few melees when he had been caught off guard, he had good instincts.

He trusted them to save him now.

Nicholai did not let up, and just when Byron thought he was tiring, he did something that the young warrior did not expect.

He caught him with a mind blast spell; the magic flung Byron back, leaving him dazed.

He looked up to see his cousin standing over him, looking down upon him with cold contempt in his eyes.

His training blade fell across Byron's neck.

He smiled savagely.

"There goes your head," the Herald exclaimed, "Congratulations, you are now dead."

The Herald smiled down at him.

"I think it is safe to say that you are not ready to become an officer just yet.

Byron shook his head, trying to shake off the effects of his cousin's spell, his temper flared anew.

"You said you weren't going to use your magic?"

"I lied," Nicholai said dryly.

Byron's eyes flashed with anger.

"You cheated!"

Nicholai brought the training blade to press against his cousin's throat, the force of it made him cough.

Rhaena gasped, and tried to go down to help, but Leliana, who had been watching not too far behind her, stopped her. All the while the Herald stared down at his young cousin, his own anger clear on his face, anger, or perhaps…disappointment.

He glared down at the younger man.

"Did you think I was playing a game?" he asked.

He tightened the blade against his cousin's throat.

"Did you?" the herald demanded.

Byron gasped and coughed, but said nothing.

He did not know what to say.

The elder Trevelyan sighed.

"This is not the tourney circuit boy," he hissed, "Your enemies won't declare themselves as such, and fight in the honorable fashion. Out there is war, and the only measure of victory is survival. The people we fight will lie, cheat, and do whatever it takes to see that you are left dead on the ground, to claim victory."

The Herald pursed his lips.

"I've been watching you, closely. You have alienated everyone you have trained with today, including your commander. That is not the way to ensure that the man standing next to you would risk his life to keep you safe, to watch your back when you need it watched."

Byron coughed.

"I'm…I'm better…"

"You are better than no one," Nicholai said, making sure that his voice was loud enough for everyone to hear. "One of the first lessons my father taught me about leading men was that an army is like a good steel chain, it is only as strong as its weakest link. Being an arrogant ass is no way to win the respect and support of your men. They must trust you, and you must be willing to trust them."

Nicholai sighed again, and took the training blade away, finally allowing his beaten cousin to stand.

"You want to lead men?" he asked.

Byron nodded.

"Then learn how to act like a good soldier, because that is where good officers come from. If you fight alone, you will die alone, no matter how good with a blade you might be."

The Herald turned away.

"I expect better from one of my own kin," he murmured, "Do better cousin, or you have no place here."

Byron watched him go, he watched as Leliana led his sister away before she could even check on him. He watched as Cullen and the rest turned their backs on him, resuming their training without him.

Heat suffused Byron's cheeks; Cousin Nicholai had embarrassed him in the worst way possible.

He left the training ground.

He needed time to think.

IOI

"Move your feet," Byron advised his newest opponent, "A moving target is always harder to hit."

The Inquisition scout nodded and tried to do what he suggested.

Byron had been working with this one of almost an hour, Bregan was his name, good man, strong from working on a farm, once he grasped just what he could do with a great sword; the man would be a terror on the battlefield.

Byron noted his cousin watching him, Nicholai was talking with Evelyn, the two mages moved through the line inspecting Cullen's work.

The Herald nodded to him, more a greeting than anything else, but Byron took it as a good sign.

He had stayed away for most of the day after Nicholai had embarrassed him, but somewhere in the middle of all that shame, some of what he had been told got through and started to make sense.

He had been shamed, yes, but the only thing that had really been hurt was his ego, his cousin could have done far worse if he had really wanted to do Byron harm.

The Herald was right, this was not the tourney circuit, he needed to do what he could to survive, even if that meant sacrificing the chance of his own glory for the good of the cause.

He tried to take what he had learned from the Herald to heart; aiding those he was training, helping them get better. He had already made a few allies by doing so, and had come to realize that that was actually a very good thing.

He glanced over at Commander Cullen. He still did not like the looks the man was giving Rhaena, but for now he put that aside. Sister Leliana and Ambassador Montilyet would not let the man take advantage of his sister. She might have been a bit of a babe in the woods, but with the help of their new allies, she was as safe as she could be.

"Again," Byron called out. The recruit he was training with charged in, he tried his disarming trick, but the boy had obviously been watching when he had done it to his fellow recruit earlier. He backed away before Byron could finish the maneuver.

"Good," he called out, "You're quick; that speed could save your life."

He smiled gamely.

"Now let's see if we can combine some precision with that speed."

He raised his blade.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

The recruit nodded, his hand shook slightly with anticipation, but beyond that, he held his ground.

Byron lunged, and the boy backpedaled, again Byron tried to disarm him, and this time the recruit just avoided, almost losing his grip on his sword in the process.

Byron smiled.

They would need to work on that.

"Now you will attack me," he said.

The recruit, murmured an agreement.

"Are you ready," Byron said setting his feet for the next attack.

Again the recruit nodded.

Byron nodded back.

"Begin," he called out.

The recruit tried to attack him, his speed was good, but he overextended, and Byron knocked him down. He struggled to his feet, but not before Byron had his training blade at the man's throat.

"Keep your lunges short," he advised,' they are more controllable that way."

Again the man nodded.

"Ready?"

Another nod.

Byron smirked.

He had gotten knocked on his ass, and humiliated, but he had also gotten back up, the wiser for it.

Wasn't that all that mattered?

What he wanted was still in reach, now he had to take it, but first there was this, and he intended not to disappoint.

"Begin."


	39. Battle Plans

**Chapter 39: Battle Plans**

Once again the Inquisition's war council had gathered, and once again the five stood around the great map. Small clay pieces marked all current points of interest, while small multicolored pins suggested where certain military forces were now. Of all of the pieces currently on the board, two took precedence in the eyes of the Herald of Andraste. Nicholai stared down at the great map of Orlais and Ferelden; he glanced back and forth between the two castle markers.

The first was Redcliffe Castle, current base of the mage rebellion, and the seat of their new Tevinter allies. The second part made the Herald's skin crawl. Trevelyan was still not sure what have could have possessed Fiona to let the Tevinters in in the first place. He understood desperation, but after what he had been through during Tantervale, trusting the Tevinter in anyway seemed to be the height of recklessness.

The second castle marker was to the east, Theirin Fall Redoubt. The Bull's Chargers had only been a part of the Inquisition for a short time, but they had already earned their pay. Bull's people had managed to locate where the Lord Seeker had brought the bulk of the Templar Order after their desertion of Val Royeaux. The war council had heard the report from Bull's lieutenant in person. Krem and his people had not been able to get the best look at the Templars operations, the Lord Seeker had established too many patrols for anyone to get close enough for that, still…the report had given the Inquisition leadership something to think about.

Nicholai frowned at the little clay castle, he could almost imagine the lord Seeker's men patrolling the walls, the soldiers training in the courtyard.

The Herald pursed his lips.

 _Just what are you up to Lord Seeker?_ He thought to himself.

He was trying to puzzle out what the Lord Seeker's strategy might be. Lucius abandons Val Royeaux, a tactical blunder as far as Nicholai was concerned, and leads the Templar army into Ferelden. They take up residence in Theirin Fall Redoubt and then…what?

Nicholai had expected the Templars to do something against the mage rebellion. After a year of war, why would they now turn their back on their enemies? The few Templars that they had captured during the war seemed to think that the war against the mages were a holy calling, that is how the Templar leadership had sold the war to their followers. Now the mages were holed up in Redcliffe, and the Templars did what…?

He had asked Leliana's people to keep an eye on the lands around Redcliffe, those hills should be swarming with Templar scouts right now, Intel should have been flowing back to Lucius as he planned his final strike against the mage rebellion, and yet, the Inquisition had seen nothing. No Templar scouts were seen around Redcliffe, in fact, no Templars anywhere, if Leliana's agents were to be trusted, the order seemed to just be sitting in Theirin Fall Redoubt, waiting.

The question was then, what were they waiting for?

What did the Lord Seeker know that they did not?

Was he scared of the Inquisition? He certainly did not act like it back in Val Royeaux. Was he worried about the Tevinters? That seemed unlikely as well; Nicholai could not remember a single engagement during the war where the Templars shied away from fighting anyone wielding magic. Most of the more zealous Templars would roar lustily when they had seen mages on the battlefield. Killing a mage for such men and women was not simply duty; it was a holy commandment, and a pleasure.

He shook his head.

Lord Seeker Lucius' actions seemed to go against everything they had heard back in Val Royeaux. They claimed independence and a desire to turn the Templar order into a force against the void, and then they hide and not even try to engage their enemies.

Tactically, it made no sense.

He turned his attention back to Redcliffe.

Whatever was going on, they needed to move fast. Song had sent word from Denerim. Arl Teagan was gathering his allies, it was only a matter of time until the Ferelden army descended on Redcliffe, and tried to force the mages out. Was that what the Lord Seeker was waiting for? Did he plan to offer his services to the Ferelden crown so that the Templars could look like heroes? It was possible, but Song had made no mention of any Templar representatives speaking with King Alistair or Queen Allegra. The order remained silent, watching and waiting.

"We have received word from the Magister," Josephine said interrupting his private musing, "He is willing to speak with us, but will only negotiate with the Herald of Andraste, in person."

Nicholai gave her an arched look.

"He asked for me?"

"Indeed," she responded, "By name."

An amused smile played across his face.

"I hope he was at least complimentary in his request," the herald quipped.

"He was _**quite**_ complimentary," Leliana added, "So complimentary, in fact, we are sure that he means to kill you."

Nicholai chuckled.

Had they not encountered Dorian in Redcliffe, he would have assumed that Magister Alexius' desire to negotiate with him alone was a Tevinter thing, a mage willing only to meet with one of his own. The whole Venatori thing changed all of that. They were obsessed with him, Felix had said. Perhaps Alexius wished to win favor with his fellows by dealing with the Herald himself.

"It is always nice to feel wanted," Trevelyan quipped.

Cullen did not find his response amusing.

"We cannot send the Herald in alone," he said, "He is the only one who can close the rift. If we lose Lord Trevelyan, we lose our best chance to seal the Breach."

"Nor can we move in force," Josephine added, "Our proximity to Orlais has already made many of the Ferelden lords nervous. A few already see us as an "Orlesian" Inquisition. Any attack launched by us against Redcliffe Castle would likely provoke a war. We cannot fight the entire Ferelden army."

"Redcliffe is in the hands of a Magister," Cassandra said flatly, "We cannot allow this to stand. A potentially hostile foreign force right on our doorstep, it is inviting trouble."

Cullen shook his head.

"I say that we abandon this madness," he said, "We forget about the mages and go get the Templars."

Leliana gave him a cool look.

"The mages did not ask to be in the position commander."

"Yet they allied with Tevinter," he reminded her, "They have sided with a cult, if what the Herald of Andraste learned in Redcliffe is true. How can we ignore that?"

"We should not," Cassandra said.

"So you support gaining Templar support Seeker?"

"I did not say that," she added quickly.

Nicholai rolled his eyes.

He could see this turning into an argument that could last all night.

He was determined not to let that happen.

"I don't trust the silence coming out of Theirinfall Redoubt," Nicholai said shaking his head, 'I've never known the Templars to shy away from a fight. Yet, they hide in their castle while the mage rebellion and their Tevinter allies do…Maker knows what."

He turned to Cullen.

"You were a Templar commander; tell me do you not find this silence troubling as well?"

Cullen winced under the Herald's gaze.

"It is unusual, I will not deny that," the man said, "Yet, I still do not see the value in you putting your life at risk. The Tevinter are a tangible threat, a threat safe behind walls that have withstood hundreds of assaults. We cannot simply let you walk in there; neither can we strike directly without provoking an attack from Ferelden."

"We cannot give up," Cassandra said, "The Magister…"

"Has outplayed us," Cullen said interrupting her.

Nicholai shook his head.

Cullen was not wrong; it looked grim, still…

His frown deepened.

In that moment he was not standing in Haven, he was in the mage camp outside of Tantervale again. He could almost see Gillian, Gilbert, and Lamont standing there, their sad eyes cold and accusing.

He quailed under that gaze.

He thought of the Tevinters that had come to them then, then he thought of Magister Alexius, so smug and secure in his power over the mage rebellion.

Trevelyan's temper flared.

He had no doubt that the Tevinters had sabotaged the Siege of Tantervale; perhaps those men had been members of this Venatori cult as well.

He had fallen for their deceptions once.

He would not do so again.

He would not hand them yet another victory.

His eyes narrowed dangerously.

"There has to be a way into Redcliffe Castle," he said, "Something we missed."

"There is not," Cullen said shaking his head.

Nicholai glared down at the map.

"Maybe we can contact the Arl," he suggested, "Teagan is looking for allies, maybe he would be willing to help us get his castle back."

"Arl Teagan is already moving forward with the Ferelden army," Josephine reminded them, "I cannot see he would abandon that course now."

Leliana approached the table.

"Perhaps," she said with a sigh, "Perhaps there is a way."

Trevelyan gave her a hopeful look.

"I'll take anything I can at this point Milady."

The spymaster pursed her lips.

"There is another entrance to the castle, a secret way, known only to the family. Alim and I used it during the Blight to penetrate Redcliffe Castle."

Nicholai's brow furrowed.

"Why did you not mention this before?"

She met his gaze with a cold look.

"That it is not a happy memory for me, Herald," she said, "It cost a young boy his life to secure Redcliffe against a demon."

She shook her head.

"My Alim thought it a mercy, he tried to make poor Connor's end as painless as possible; far more merciful than slaying the boy's mother or letting the Templars kill him."

She looked down at the floor.

"It is a choice that still haunts my dearest, and probably will until his dying day."

Nicholai winced.

Suddenly, he was sorry that he asked.

She pointed to the village map.

"The entrance is here, hidden beneath the floor of the old windmill."

"Is it large enough to get soldiers through?" Cullen asked.

Leliana shook her head.

"Soldiers, no," she said, "We could sneak some agents through, but if the magister knows about the entrance, or if he has sent up defensive wards…"

"Alexius' maybe expecting an attack," Cassandra said, "We would need a distraction."

Trevelyan grinned.

"I can be pretty distracting when I want," he added.

Cassandra smiled slightly.

"That is true," she agreed dryly.

The Herald grinned at her.

Again something passed between them, something that only the most observant might have seen. Beneath her cowl, Leliana smiled slightly.

"We get the Magister to focus on Trevelyan," Cullen said nodding, "While Leliana's agents move through the secret passage and deal with the Tevinters. It is risky but it could work."

"We would need mages to accompany the agents," Nicholai said, "They could clear out any wards that the Magister or his cronies have set up."

Trevelyan pursed his lips.

"Though I'm not sure what kind of defenses he might use."

"Lucky you have me then."

They turned; the door had been open, the soldiers standing watch outside keeping anyone back.

Dorian of House Pavus stood between them, a merry grin on his face.

"Pardon the interruption," the guard watching him said, "This man arrived saying he has intimate knowledge of the Magister and his staff."

Nicholai smiled slightly.

"Hello again," he said to the Tevinter.

"Hello back," Dorian said jovially, "Your agents will never get past Alexius' magic without my help. I'm willing to offer my support if you desire it."

Nicholai glanced at Cassandra, who gave him a slight nod. He trusted her judgment and her opinion.

He might have trusted Dorian at face value, but preferred to get the Seeker's opinion as well. She might not have been fond of mages, but she knew people.

He was willing to extend a little trust, if she was.

Cullen looked down at the map again, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

"There will be risk Herald," he said, "If you do not wish to play the bait, we can always forget this and go get the Templars."

Nicholai frowned.

The ghost of the mages that had perished in Tantervale still haunted him. The Tevinter had likely lost them that battle.

He thought it only fair that they lose something as well.

"I'm willing to take the risk," he said, "Alexius is our best shot at finding out more about this Venatori cult. It is worth the risk."

He glanced over at Cassandra again. Her face reminded guarded, but she seemed to approve of what he was doing.

That was all he needed to move forward.

"We will aid Dorian, and deal with the Magister," he said flatly.

"Then perhaps," he said grimly, "We can finally get some answers."

"It is time to figure out what is really going on."


	40. The Magister

**Chapter 40: The Magister**

"Announce us."

Nicholai spoke in the tone of a noble, a tone that suggests no resistance. The Tevinter servant blinked as he regarded the Herald's companions.

Cassandra insisted that he not go alone. As the former right hand of the Divine, and the one who called the Inquisition, the magister should have expected her to be here. Sera, now disguised as an elven footman, followed close behind. The elf had complained bitterly about the disguise at first, even though she had to know it was the best way to get past Alexius' guards. In the end, Nicholai had had to promise her the opportunity to put an arrow in the Magister's gob if things went wrong.

She had giggled when she heard that, and double timed it putting the disguise on.

Trevelyan had shaken his head.

Sometimes…he wondered if the little elven girl was not all there, and feared it was only a matter of time before her quirks caused one of them to get hurt. She had managed to control herself up this point, but who could say what would happen when the fighting really started. She was good with her bow he did not doubt that, but that did not mean she was truly ready to wade into a war.

Only time would tell, he just hoped that no one would get hurt when it did.

Cassandra's face remained cool and emotionless. Sera gave the man a map-cap grin.

The Tevinter wrinkled his nose.

"The invitation was for you Herald," he said, "No one else."

Nicholai gave the man a sheepish grin.

"You would not deny me my attaches' would you?"

The servant frowned and said no more. He merely gestured for the Inquisition members to follow him...

The herald tried to keep his expression bland, not let the man know what was really going on. The Tevinters' sell swords had let them past without a word. The servant guiding them was either oblivious about what was about to happen, or he was a skilled actor, either way it did not matter.

This meeting would not go as Magister Alexius had planned.

Josephine had done her job well, she had sent missives to the magister quibbling over minor details and assurances that needed to be made before this meeting could take place. Alexius' people had responded in kind, while Leliana's agents arrived in Redcliffe. They came either alone or in pairs, by the time that Nicholai and his fellows entered the castle, thirty Inquisition agents had entered the tunnel under the destroyed windmill and were even now heading for the castle.

Trevelyan glanced around trying to count the various guards the Tevinters had with them. Alexius had kept his people inside the castle, for both his protection and to not alarm the villagers outside, that decision worked in the Inquisition's favor, when they made their move, there would be no time to alert the Tevinters' allies outside, or gather reinforcements to come help. The Nightingale had briefed her people well, having spent time here during the Blight she claimed to know the weakness of this place once everything was ready. When the time came, they would take the castle too quickly for anyone outside to respond.

Provided everything went off without a hitch, of course, he thought…

…Provided that Dorian of House Pavus can be trusted.

He had asked his cousin Evelyn to come along, just in case. The knight enchanter was as skilled with a blade as she was with her spells. Even Nicholai would have been careful engaging her. He had asked to watch their Tevinter friend; if anything seemed suspicious…well…Evelyn knew what to do.

The servant ushered them into the throne room. Alexius sat on the Arl's throne, with both Felix and Fiona at his side. The great hearth behind the throne filled the room with golden light, illuminating the Tevinter banners that had no doubt been added by the Magister and his followers.

Alexius smiled as they approached. His expression suggested that he did not have a single care in the world. He was almost smug in fact. It was almost as if he believed that Trevelyan would not come prepared. That the noble horse would run blindly into the dragon's jaws.

Well, Trevelyan thought, clearly he does not know the quality of the horses of Ostwick. We kick when threatened, and are not above trampling anyone who gets in our way.

Alexius was about to learn that, first hand.

"Milord Magister," the servant called out, "The Agents of the Inquisition."

Alexius rose in greeting, his smile never leaving his face.

"Welcome my friend, and your more…curious entourage."

Nicholai smiled.

"Alas," he said, "Mine is not the _only_ voice the Inquisition listens to. Lady Cassandra's voice carries great weight, and my servant has joined us to make sure that everything is recorded properly."

Sera gave the Magister an unhinged looking smile, but he ignored her.

Alexius laughed lightly.

"Of course, my friend," he purred, "Of course, please step closer and we will see about getting the mages you need to help seal the breach."

Nicholai paused, taking note of his surroundings. It was not hard to tell that Alexius had at least some armor on under his golden robes. His staff rested in his lap. His guards were armed and spaced evenly throughout the throne room.

The magister had not even pretended to offer them guest rights. Clearly the etiquette of the royal court of Tevinter extended even here. Alexius had not offered any hospitality, probably because he had never intended for this to be anything but a trap. That was good, Nicholai thought.

 _It made what they were about to do even fairer._

"We are looking for all the help we can get," he informed the Magister.

Fiona gave them both a cool look.

"Do we mages have no say in this?" she demanded.

"Fiona," Alexius said coolly, "You would not have given over your people to us if you did not trust me."

He smiled at her.

"You must have faith that I have your best interest at heart."

Nicholai could have said something to the same effect, but he instead chose to drive a wedge between the two.

"The Inquisition would be honored if Fiona participated in these talks," he said, "as a guest of the Inquisition of course."

Nicholai had no way of knowing just how much the grand enchanter knew about the Venatori. This would be as good a test as any to find out. If she tried to sway him to Tevinter, he would know that she could not be trusted.

Of course, he did not think that negotiations would get that far.

Fiona gave him an appraising look, perhaps trying to decide if his offer was genuine, in the end, she nodded his way.

"Thank you," she murmured.

Nicholai smiled and turned back to face the Magister.

"You need mages to close the breach, and I have them," Alexius began, "What is the Inquisition prepared to offer for their services?"

Trevelyan smiled slightly.

 _Here we go_ , he thought.

"Actually," he began, "I was hoping that we could discuss the Venatori. I've heard so much about them. I would also like to discuss this time magic of yours."

If Alexius was shocked, he did not show it. His expression remained bland, yet his posture had become most definitely rigid.

Fiona blinked, her elven ears twitched.

"Venatori?" she said, "Time magic? What is the Herald talking about Alexius?"

The magister stood, his shadow seemed to grow longer, darkening Nicholai's path."

Now just where did you hear that name, I wonder." He hissed.

Trevelyan did not get the chance to answer.

"I told him," Felix said.

Alexius turned to his son, his eyes going suddenly icy."

"Felix, what have you done?"

Nicholai stepped forward.

"Your son is worried about you, Magister," he said, "He came to us for help."

Alexius glared at them.

"You," he spat, at Nicholai, "You come into my stronghold with your stolen mark and think you are in control, that you can turn my own son against me?!"

The Magister clenched his fists.

"You…you are nothing but a mistake."

Nicholai gave him an arched look; suddenly things had started to fall into place. He decided to test a theory.

"What was supposed to happen at the Conclave, Magister," he demanded, "What was the Venatori trying to do in the temple of sacred ashes?"

"It was to be our moment." The man replied, "It was to be the greatest victory of the Elder One, a victory for the entire world."

The Magister's expression turned dreamy.

"The world would have been made right again."

Trevelyan crossed his arms over his chest.

At least they now knew that the Venatori were behind the Conclave explosion, and this…Elder One?

"The Elder One? Is he your leader? Is he another mage?"

The magister laughed.

"Soon…he shall become… **a god** , and the world will learn to bow Tevinter once more. We shall rule this world from the Boeric Ocean to the Frozen Sea."

Fiona stepped away, anger flashing in her eyes, her elven ears lowering like that of an angry cat.

"You will not involve my people in this!" she exclaimed.

Alexius only sneered at her.

"Father," Felix said stepping between Trevelyan and the Magister. Nicholai almost shouted for him to get out of the way, but recognized that such a request was likely futile.

"Stop this," the Magister's son shouted.

"Stop this!"

Alexius gave him a pained look.

"I cannot stop now," he said, "This is the only way, Felix, the way that I will save you."

The younger man's eyes narrowed.

"Save me?"

Alexius' nodded.

"If I correct the mistake at the temple, the Elder One will save you, he promised."

Felix shook his head, he sighed heavily.

"I'm going to die," he said, "You have to accept that."

"Once the Elder One rises, Felix, he will remake the world in his image. You will be safe. Our world will be restored."

"Father, listen to yourself. Do you not know what you sound like?"

"He sounds like the villainous cliché that everyone here in the south accuses us of being."

The Magister raised his eyes; a new player had stepped onto the field.

"Dorian," he spat, "I gave you the chance to join us. To help me with this and you refused."

Alexius' apprentice sighed.

"Remember what we used to talk about," he said, "What you are doing now, that is exactly the thing that we promised we would never allow to happen. Tevinter can be so much more. We can be so much more."

The Magister snarled; any sense of hospitality was gone.

He glared at Trevelyan.

"Seize them, Venatori," he ordered, "The Elder One demands this man's life!"

Nicholai drew his staff, he raised a shield around his allies, yet it proved to be unnecessary.

Dorian had managed to reach the hall safely and undetected, and he had not done so alone.

As one, Leliana's agents sprang from the shadows. Some drove daggers in the backs of Tevinters. Other's sent bolts flying through the eyes of others. The man servant that showed them in tried to draw a dagger only to be pierced through the heart by Evelyn Trevelyan, the man gasped and turned as she withdrew _Fool's Bane_. He must have known he was dead, yet he still tried to lash out.

The Knight Enchanter's sword took the man's head. It fell to the ground as his body dropped, still spasming where it lay.

Trevelyan looked at his cousin.

"We have secured the doors and the front gates" she informed him, "No Tevinters escaped, and no one managed to raise the alarm."

For the briefest of moments, his cousin, so famous for her icy demeanor smiled.

"The castle is _**ours,**_ Herald."

Nicholai nodded grimly, for the briefest of moment he basked in this victory. The Tevinters had cost him much at Tantervale.

Today, he felt strangely vindicated.

He turned and looked up at Alexius.

"Yield Magister," he ordered.

"This game is over."

Alexius took a step back, his eyes darkening with rage. No longer did he appear regal and in control.

Now, he looked like a craven animal, looking for a way out, but not before he had a chance to bite someone for his misfortune.

His eyes burned into Nicholai, if looks could kill, the Herald would have been a pile of ash.

"You are nothing but a mistake," he growled, raising a strange, green glowing amulet. The air around it began to shimmer and ripple.

Alexius sneered.

"You should _**never**_ even have existed."

The Magister raised the amulet.

" **No!"**

Dorian leapt in front of Trevelyan, he fired a bolt of magic at his former mentor, not enough to cause any physical harm, but…

The air crackled

The air seemed to twist in front of Nicholai, he tried to back away, but it was too late.

The swirling portal fell upon him, him and Dorian both.

For the briefest of moments Nicholai felt a sense of vertigo, of failing or spinning, perhaps both at once.

The world turned green then black.

Then…he fell, and kept falling until…until…

The Herald screamed.

Then…nothing.


	41. A New Alliance

**A/N: Sorry for the lack of updates, just got back from the Origin's game fair. Fun was had by all. Anyway onto the next chapter!**

 **DG**

 **Chapter 41: A New Alliance**

 _I am a bloody fool!_

Natalya Song did her best not to storm out of the throne room. It took all of her bardic training and poise not leave looking like an angry child. Her head spun from what she had just learned from Chancellor Eamon, to say that the news had blindsided her would have been a gross understatement.

The bard shook her head.

 _I underestimated His Majesty,_ she thought.

 _And everything we have been working towards may fall because of it._

She said nothing to no one as she made her way back to her quarters. Several elven maids crossed her path, twittering nervously, she ignored them. Her mind was already awhirl with ideas, trying to think of how to salvage all this. No message she could send now would reach Haven in time, likely it was already too late…

Her hands curled into angry fists.

How had she let this slip past her? How?

She started to wonder if she was going soft, back in Ostwick she would never have been caught so completely unaware. Once upon a time she would have said such a thing was impossible, that was how confident she had been in her skills.

 _That was_ _ **your**_ _failing,_ her late mother's voice whispered in her ear. _As soon as someone believes themselves to be invincible they are, at that point, at their most vulnerable, it is at_ _ **that**_ _moment that you must strike, swiftly and without mercy._

Song closed her eyes and winced.

It had been too long since she had thought about her mother, once those early lessons had guided her. They had kept her alive while others around her had perished. Her Mother had been one of her father's top agents, had served him well and his father before him. She had always thought that she was better than her mother, that the betrayal that had finally killed her would never touch her daughter.

Today, she learned the dangers of over-confidence.

Natalya sighed heavily.

 _I truly am a bloody fool._

She had thought she had King Alistair all figured out. He had seemed so guileless, the queen was he cunning one, and therefore had to be watched closely. Alistair Theirin was a humble pup by comparison. After the dinner she had shared with him and his family, she had thought the monarch put at ease when it came to the Inquisition. She had thought him convinced that they were no ally to the Tevinter, and that he did not need to intervene on the matter of Redcliffe. Her brother and his allies were already taking steps to deal with the Magister and his followers.

All the king needed to do, was sit back, and be patient. Everything would work itself out, and the Inquisition would have what it needed to seal the Breach.

After that, she had been content to spend her time among the nobles, looking for allies where she might be able to find them. It had been slow work, but she was confident that she was making progress. Several days ago, she had requested an audience with the king, to give him a report on what the Inquisition was doing for the refugees in the Hinterlands. The king's secretary had denied her request, saying that he was currently tied it speaking with the new ambassador from Kirkwall, and that he would be happy to grant an audience within the week.

She had endeavored to be patient, but after two days she had started getting a strange nagging feeling about the king's refusal to see her. She had had no evidence to support her worries, merely an elusive sense of unease. Again she had approached the king's secretary and again she had been told that the king was not available, still tied up with the Ambassador from Kirkwall.

Following that rebuff, she had decided to speak with this marcher ambassador herself. She had hoped to convince him it was in his best interest to aid the Inquisition and free up the king's schedule so that she and he could have a word. It had taken a bit of work, but finally she had managed to secure a meeting with him, and that was when she realized just how bad she had been outplayed.

The man from Kirkwall had been delighted to speak with her. It had been too long since he had had the chance to speak with a fellow Marcher, even one from Ostwick. He had been a perfect gentleman; the only chiding he had offered her was that she had been keeping the king all to herself. He had been waiting a week for an audience, and so far nothing.

The man had smiled broadly.

He was most disappointed, he confessed.

That confession had been a bucket of cold sludge down her spine.

The king told her he was meeting with the Kirkwallers, and had told the Kirkwaller that he was meeting with her.

She excused herself as politely as possible, and made straight for the throne room. Chancellor Eamon of Guerin was holding court in His Majesty's absence. She had curtseyed to him and, keeping her most civil tongue in her head, once again requested an audience with the king.

The chancellor had given her a fatherly smile.

"I'm afraid His Majesty will not be able to meet with you today Agent Song," he said, "Both the king and queen are at this moment marching on Redcliffe Castle. They go to recover my brother's holdings from the upstart mage rebellion and their Tevinter allies."

It was all that Natalya could do to keep from choking.

"Your…Your Grace," she stammered, "I…do not understand. The king was convinced…"

"Convinced of what Agent Song," the Chancellor said with a furrowed brow, "His Majesty has chosen not to sit and do nothing while two foreign powers squabble over Ferelden holdings. Redcliffe Castle has belonged to my family for generations…"

Eamon's expression turned chilly.

"You did not expect His Majesty to simply sit back and do nothing?"

She tried to maintain her composure; she smiled at the former Arl of Redcliffe.

"Perhaps I can send a letter to my brother," she said, "Explain to him what is going on. I'm sure no one wants to risk any kind of misunderstanding at this point. After all, the Inquisition is simply here to help."

"I'm afraid that a letter would be pointless at this point Agent Song. The King left days ago, his forces are no doubt, at this moment dealing with Redcliffe Castle. If Inquisition Agents are within, well…"

The man shook his head.

"I do hope that they will not do anything foolish. Redcliffe is Ferelden territory and the king is prepared to do what is necessary to make sure that it stays Ferelden territory. It does not belong to your Inquisition or the Tevinters."

His expression remained grim.

"I do hope you are able to accept that Agent Song?"

Despite feeling a desire to rip out the man's eyeballs, Natalya managed a soft smile.

"Of course, Your Grace," she said curtseying slightly.

Her green eyes never left the Chancellor. If her brother was harmed, she would make it her mission in life to see that the noble House of Theirin answered for it. If her dreams and hopes for the future were dashed because Alistair and Allegra thought to get cute, she would see that they answered. She did not care how many elven heroes and soldiers they had. They would pay.

A flicker of fury ran down her spine, a flicker she buried beneath years of careful training.

She had left quickly then, already trying to decide what she would send in her next report. It was too late to warn the Inquisition off, but perhaps she could get word to Sister Leliana, it was said that the Nightingale was an old friend of the king.

Perhaps the spymaster could do something, if not, if Nicholai was hurt.

She smiled coldly.

If Nicholai was harmed, her wrath would make the fury that the Archdemon visited on this city a decade ago seem like a gentle summer breeze.

Natalya had plans for the Inquisition and he place within it.

She would not be denied.

IOI

Evelyn Trevelyan could only stare opened mouth as her cousin and the Tevinter mage Dorian vanished into the swirling portal. As an Enchanter of the Circle she had seen many strange things, but never, never, had she see seen anything like that.

The magic that the magister had used felt strange…wrong. She did not believe Dorian's tales about time magic, such spells were impossible, but…but…

She frowned deeply.

Whatever had had happened it had done something to her cousin. If the Magister did not reverse what he had done, he would answer with his life, this she swore…

And from the reaction of Seeker Pentaghast, it was clear that she would not be alone in seeking her vengeance.

The Seeker's eyes narrowed with barely controlled fury, she advanced on the Magister. Alexius looked down at the strange talisman in his hand; he had been too distracted to notice Cassandra, at least until she seized him by the throat.

Alexius gasped in surprise, he tried to raise the foul talisman again, but Cassandra swatted it away, her eyes flared as she unleashed some Templar ability on the man.

He howled in agony and fell back into his throne. Felix said nothing; the Magister's son was smart enough not to interfere. Grand Enchanter Fiona stood silently off to the side, not sure how this confrontation was going to play out.

That mad elf Sera kept watch on both with her bow, her eyes wide and fearful. From what Evelyn had seen the girl did not like magic, not that the mage blamed her in that moment.

Some magics, she thought, should never be attempted.

Somethings…were best left alone.

Cassandra was on the man like a lioness, she glared hatefully down upon him.

"What did you do mage," she demanded.

Alexius whimpered under her touch, a burning touch that Evelyn could feel even from here.

"What did you do?" the Seeker repeated.

"Too soon," Alexius gasped, "It…it was too soon. The portal wasn't stable!"

The man shook his head.

"Elder One forgive me," he whimpered, "I…I failed him."

Cassandra pulled the man to his feet; his hood fell back as she shook him with barely contained fury.

"What did you do to the Herald mage," she spat, **"ANSWER ME!"**

Alexius struggled in her grip, but resistance was futile.

"I did what I promised to do," he said, "I…I tried…"

It was at that moment that the space before them rippled again. Evelyn stepped back drawing her sword. She brought Fool's Bane up ready to meet whatever nightmare the Magister's dabbling had unleashed.

The portal swirled open again, tow figures leaped out, and then, as if it had never been the portal vanished again.

Evelyn Trevelyan blinked.

Cousin Nicholai and Dorian stood before them once more. Both men looked like they had just marched off of a battlefield. Nicholai's enchanters coat and breaches were torn, while Dorian's robes were stained with both blood and grime.

Nicholai glared at the magister with a look of pure hate and loathing. Under that gaze even the magister wilted, not that Evelyn blamed him. If looks could kill, Alexius would have been on the funeral pyre right now.

Cassandra looked back at the Herald, the two said nothing, but they did not need to, Evelyn could see the fear on the woman's face, fear and relief that the man had returned to them unharmed.

Dorian made a show of wiping the grime off his robe and smiled at his former mentor, it was a smile that was both cold and mocking.

"You will have to do better than that," he exclaimed.

The Magister looked at Cousin Nicholai, in that moment all of the fight drained out of the outnumbered mage; he slumped in his throne, beaten.

Yet Nicholai did not let him off at that.

"You have failed Alexius," he growled, "Tell me, how forgiving is your Elder One?"

The older man did not meet his gaze; he simply kept his head down and sighed.

"You've…you've won," he said in a hopeless voice, "There is no further reason to continue this…charade."

He looked up at his son, his expression as pained as anyone who has ever known grief could attest. When he spoke, it was with great sorrow.

"Felix," he said reaching out for the boy.

To his credit the young man did not look angry at the man. After all he had only been trying to save his child.

Evelyn winced.

If anyone knew what that was like, to lose a child, it was her.

"It will be alright Father," he said.

Alexius shook his head.

"You will die."

Felix gave him a sad smile.

"Everyone does," he said with a shrug.

Nicholai approached, his eyes cold and merciless, yet when he looked down on the beaten magister, some pity did come to his face.

"Be grateful for your son and Dorian, old man," he said coldly, "If not for them…"

Nicholai seemed to be reaching for his sword, but finally thought better of it. He lowered his hand. He took a deep breath and looked away.

"Clap this man in irons," he ordered, "He has much to answer for."

The Inquisition soldiers obeyed, they bound Alexius who did not even try to resist. When he was led away he was accompanied by his son. Having the boy there did much to keep their prisoner under control.

Evelyn looked up at her cousin; she gave him a concerned look. He waved it away, and went to the Seeker's side.

"What happened?" she asked.

He gave her a sad smile.

"Ask me again sometime," he said, "For now, it is good to see you."

The warmth in his voice surprised the Seeker, his smile made her look away; she left quickly, marching off to help the agents who were even now securing the castle.

Nicholai turned back to Dorian. The Tevinter was now watching the Grand Enchanter, Fiona had not moved since the confrontation had begun.

"Well," he said clasping his hands, "I'm glad that is over."

It was then that the door to the throne room was flung open, the Inquisition agents turned, readying their weapons. Six Ferelden royal guards marched in perfect lockstep in the room. Their weapons were not drawn, but the fact that they were here was clear that the castle was not as secure as the Inquisition would have liked.

Nicholai stepped forward as three more people entered the room. The captain of the royal guard in front, followed closely by…

Evelyn's eyes widened.

It was King Alistair and Queen Allegra, and neither of them looked happy.

Evelyn lowered her blade

The battle of swords was over she realized.

The battle of words had just begun.

IOI

Nicholai did his best to put on his best smile, even after everything that he and Dorian had just been through; he knew that it would not do to start snarling at the king and queen, not when they were clearly so…displeased.

Fortunately, that displeasure was not directed at him or the Inquisition.

Both of the nobles glared at Fiona, who looked scared at Nicholai had ever seen her. She seemed to shrink under the king's cold gaze, not that he blamed her.

He certainly would not have wanted the king to look at him like that.

Cassandra arrived again a few moments later, accompanied by two Ferelden officers.

They both saluted the king and queen.

"The Inquisition has yielded the castle to us without a fight, Your Majesties," the first said.

"They have offered no resistance," added the second.

"We did not come here to fight the Ferelden army," Cassandra added quickly, "We are here to help, and that is all."

Alistair took a second to digest what he had just heard; perhaps Nat had not been as convincing as he had hoped. Finally thought, the king nodded, pleased by the news, but still clearly focused on Fiona.

Nicholai winced.

The elf had much to answer for, but at the same time, he had seen what her reward would have been had they not made it back.

After that, he was more…inclined to offer her mercy.

"Grand Enchanter," Alistair began, "We would like to discuss how you have abused our trust."

The lowered her eyes, her long elven ears drooped slightly.

"King Alistair," she murmured, "Queen Allegra…please…let me explain."

"When we offered you sanctuary, that did not mean that you were free to turn over Redcliffe to a Tevinter army," Queen Allegra said angrily, her Nevarran accent becoming more pronounced with her rage.

"I fear we have gone beyond explanation, Grand Enchanter," Alistair added, "Effective immediately, your people are no longer welcome in Redcliffe, we would ask that you vacate both this castle and the village. Now."

Fiona's elven ears rose in alarm.

"But…but Your Majesties, we have children amongst us, injured…where are we to go?"

Nicholai chose to speak up before the two royals could say anything further.

"If the mages are no longer welcome in Redcliffe," he said, "The Inquisition would be willing to take them in."

Behind him Sera laughed.

"You're kidding right," she said "You have to be kidding yeah, after everything that these stupid shites have done."

"After what they have done, Cassandra added, "You should consider conscripting these mages, clearly they are not worthy of our trust."

Fiona glared at her, but there was no heat in it. She knew how badly she had screwed up, letting a Tevinter cult manipulate them. Nicholai would have been well within his rights to conscript every mage in Redcliffe.

Fiona looked at him, as a fellow mage, she likely trusted him far more than Cassandra. "What exactly would be the terms of such an alliance?" she inquired.

"Better than those the Magister offered," Cassandra said coldly.

Both women turned their gaze to Nicholai.

He decided to surprise them both.

"Trust can't be given," he said, "It must be earned."

He turned to Fiona.

"We need aid against the breach. If you are willing to offer your help, we are willing to offer you a full alliance, the mages and the Inquisition will be partners in this, you will not be conscripts our indentured in any way."

Both Cassandra and Evelyn looked at him like he had grown a second head, he did not blame them. At the same time, they had not seen what was to come if they should fail.

He would tell them later, but he could not say they if they would be able to understand.

Not having seen the world under the Elder One's thumb…who could?

Fiona glanced at Nicholai and at the King. Alistair's look remained cold.

"I'm guessing you will not find a better offer anywhere else Grand Enchanter."

The elf looked away sadly, clearly troubled by the king's scorn. Yet, she looked at Nicholai, her expression turned hopeful.

"We will prove ourselves worthy of your trust," she said offering him her hand, "The breach will be closed."

He smiled and took it.

"I ask for nothing more Grand Enchanter," he said, "The world thinks of us as outlaws now."

His smile grew broader.

"It is time to prove them wrong, don't you think?"

Fiona smiled slightly.

"Yes, Herald," she answered.

"I do believe that it is."


	42. Dueling

**Chapter 42: Dueling**

He watched as she trained. All her focus was directed at her target, nothing else existed but the opponent in front of her.

Nicholai shivered.

Her expression was the same as it was in the future that he hoped now would never be. She had pledged to hold the door, to make sure that Dorian had time to finish his spell and give them a second chance at history.

He had watched her die, and in that moment he realized something that his heart had been trying to tell him for a while now. It was not something easily accepted. He remembered seeing the door flung open by demons and Venatori, seeing her body flung broken to the ground beside it. It had been all he could do to keep from rushing to her side. If he had, they would have all died, and the world would have been lost, but...but...

He grimaced.

It had been a very close thing.

He had given the rest of the war council his report. Where he and Dorian had ended up after Alexius had cast his spell, what they had seen there, and, though he was loathed to do it, the fate of his companions there. Leliana had been quiet after hearing about her end. Cassandra had dismissed it, true or not, she had said, what had happened had already been changed...

It was better to focus on the now, rather than on what might have been.

He had hoped that the return to Haven would make it better. They had the mages now, but there were those on the war council that had not agreed with how it was done. Cullen was certain there were abominations hidden among the mages, and even if there weren't any, in his eyes, the mages had proven they could not be trusted. Vivienne had also giver her opinion on the matter. She felt that Cullen needed to train more of their men in the Templar arts, especially if Fiona and her malcontents were going to stay.

Trevelyan had expected Cassandra to agree with the Commander and First Enchanter, it would have made it easier to forget what he had felt if she had, but again she surprised him. She said that she did not agree with his methods, but that he had accomplished his mission.

In her eyes, he had done well.

Once again he felt a stirring in his breast. The two of them had been through so much together since that first attack on the Breach.

Her support...it mattered more to him than she would likely ever know.

Now the real work would begin, he had already been meeting with the surviving First Enchanters and Fiona, trying to come up with a game plan of how to assault the Breach. In the meantime, there was at least some jubilation about the mages' arrival. Varric had mentioned holding some kind of a celebration, and Cousin Rhaena had picked up on that. She had brought it up with Ambassador Montilyet, and now the two were hard at work. Rhaena was now moving quickly through the village, gathering supplies for a 'welcome to the fight' party of some type.

Nicholai said nothing against it. It would be good to give the Inquisition a chance to bond with their new allies. A bit of celebration might be just what they needed, a chance to push the shadows back for a while.

A new thought occurred to him.

Perhaps the Inquisition was not the only one who needed a little release.

He smiled down at the Seeker training so hard on the field below him.

I can either stand at a distance and brood, he thought, or I can do something about it.

He started down to the training field.

He had decided to do something.

Hopefully, he was not being an idiot.

IOI

"You're magnificent!"

The Seeker glanced at him, her sword still held at the ready. All around them the Inquisition's soldiers continued to drill in the Haven courtyard. Commander Cullen passed by not far from where the two were standing, too busy to notice them, too many of their soldiers needed tips on their fighting form.

So far the former Templar had not commented on his presence here, which was fine by him.

Despite everything that had happened, as a mage, he was still quite leery of attracting the attention of a Templar, especially one who had served in Kirkwall.

Nicholai Trevelyan gave her a warm smile. He had been hoping that his comment would have the desired effect.

It did not.

"You flatter me," Cassandra Pentaghast said coolly. She lashed out at the training dummy again with her sword. Her stance and form were perfect, poetry in motion.

It was not enough to please the Lady Seeker, she grunted in disgust.

Nicholai recognized the need to change tactics. Flattery clearly was not going to work, and Cassandra had rebuffed more than a few of his attempts to speak candidly with her.

Being rebuffed in such a way was not something that the mage was used too. As a young man Nicholai Trevelyan had never wanted for feminine company. The suave and charming mage had always known exactly what to say to get some eager apprentice, or lady of the court swooning.

He suppressed a slight chuckle.

Perhaps he was losing his touch. Perhaps the months of trekking through the mud and blood of the Free Marches and Ferelden had destroyed his charms. It was not like he had had ample opportunities to seduce a member of the opposite sex during the mage rebellion. Gillian had been enough for him, and he had been content with what they had shared.

Her loss still hurt, but slowly, the pain had changed, the sharpness had turned into a dull ache, and Cassandra's presence had started to fill the gap left behind. He would always care for Gillian, but even a savaged heart healed in time.

 _Gillian knew you, that made it easier, you know how to flatter most ladies, but they were at least willing to consider your charms._

His smile widened slightly.

Of course, all those willing ladies were _**not** _ Cassandra Pentaghast; the Seeker was a new animal entirely.

He had been a boy of fifteen when she had saved Orlais twenty years ago. News of the exploits of the sixteen year old seeker had spread throughout Thedas. Even as far as the Circle of Ostwick, they had heard tales of the Hero of Orlais, her fire, her skill, and beauty.

Almost all the boys of his generation had fantasized at least once about her, all of them believing that if **they** were given the chance, then **they** would be the one to tame the fierce warrior girl.

Time had been kind to the Seeker, he could not deny that. She had grown from a beautiful girl, into a mature, strong, and attractive woman.

Was it surprising then that all those boyish fantasies came back to the mage?

No wonder he was willing to risk his life for a chance to get into her small clothes?

The Mage snorted with amusement. Natalya thought him crazy. Varric had given him more than his share of curious looks when he had complimented Cassandra in the field. The dwarf still saw Cassandra Pentaghast as his jailor, his interrogator…

No wonder he could not see the fine lady that wore that armor.

No wonder that he did not understand.

The last time Trevelyan had seen her lower her guard was during a training session. She had confessed her fears about the Inquisition. She had wondered if she had done the right thing. He had done his best to reassure her. He had been enchanted by her brief show of vulnerability.

He hated the fact that he had not seen that side of her since, that she had retreated back behind her shield and armor again.

Cassandra was more than that, he knew it.

Now…he simply had to find the way to let the girl within the armor shine through.

Not an easy challenge, for too long the Seeker had been only about her duties.

It would be difficult to get her to let him in.

She once again swung at the training dummy a left to right attack that would have left an opponent either disarmed or dead. Still, the Seeker did not seem pleased with herself. If Nicholai was not mistaken, she was likely her own harshest critic.

If growing up noble had taught him anything, it was that perfection was a hard thing to come by.

Again the Seeker grunted in dissatisfaction.

Nicholai finally came up with a new approach to his problem, whether it would work or not remained to be seen.

He chuckled with amusement.

"Perhaps you need stronger training dummies?" he offered, "Perhaps solid iron?"

"That would be nice," the Seeker snorted.

Nicholai smirked as he went over to the weapon's rack. He chose a longsword from it and pulled from its scabbard.

The mage's brow furrowed, the blade was a little heavier than he was used to, but that was quite common with Ferelden blades. The dog lords liked to use their swords as hacking weapons, little finery came into play in their battles.

Still…the sword was something he could work with.

It was something he could use.

Cassandra lowered her weapon, she tilted her head slightly.

"What are you doing, My Lord?" she asked.

Trevelyan smiled.

"Giving you something to hit other than a training dummy," he said dropping into a fighter's stance.

His green eyes twinkled with mischief.

"Care to go a round or two?"

Cassandra frowned. She looked down at her blade, and at the mage's stance.

"It would not be fair, Herald," she informed him, "A long sword is not a staff, and I have no time to give you the proper instruction. You would be…"

Nicholai did not give her a chance to finish.

He lunged.

Cassandra's eyes widened as she back pedaled, as she was pushed back by his attack. Nicholai rained down blows on her defenses.

Cassandra tried to push him back, to give herself some more room.

Trevelyan flowed around her, quickly getting out of the way of her charge.

He tapped her lightly on the backside as she rushed past.

The Seeker turned on him, fury and murder in her eyes.

Trevelyan chuckled, trying to appear nonchalant, but at the same time fearing that he had gone too far.

His eyes twinkled with amusement. He pointed the blade at the Seeker, holding it in a loose grip. An unseasoned fighter would have taken that as a chance to try and disarm him, but the Seeker was too smart for that.

She was smart enough to smell and trap, and therefore not fall into it.

Good for her.

"You need not worry about me Seeker," he informed her, "I was my father's heir once after all, before I came into my magic."

He looked down at the sword in his hand.

"Father had a training blade in my hand by the time I was five."

He twirled the blade expertly.

"You have no need to give **me** the proper instruction."

Cassandra charged brashly. He had angered her, but her skill had not diminished with that anger, if anything it became sharper.

Now it was Nicholai that was forced to back pedal.

She said nothing, all her focus was now on her opponent. Her dark eyes flashed her lips trembled slightly. Her cheeks were barely flushed.

Nicholai's body stirred.

Maker's breath, he thought.

She is really sexy when she is angry.

He switched to a two handed grip, using his strength to counter hers. He saw an opening and took it, but carefully, recognizing that the Seeker might be setting a trap.

She was not; once again she was on the defensive.

He pushed her back.

He frowned slightly.

He would have expected her to try to trap him with that opening, hmmm?

The two locked blades, both of them grunting, straining; trying to push the other back.

Cassandra let out a hissing breath.

"Not bad," she murmured.

"Thank you," Nicholai responded, "But I get the feeling you are holding back."

Cassandra's lips twitched not quite a smile, but almost.

"Yes," she purred.

Trevelyan grinned.

"Do me a favor, _**don't**_."

Cassandra pushed him away. Both of them dropped into fighting crouches.

The two of them circled, two panthers stalking each other, both fast, strong, and sly.

More than a few of the Inquisition soldiers had taken notice of the impromptu duel.

They began to surround the fighters, forming an audience of sorts.

Nicholai smirked.

"It seems we are attracting a crowd," he said.

Cassandra grinned predatorily.

"Does that bother you, Herald?"

"Not at all," he replied.

Her smile widened.

"Another round, Seeker?"

She did not answer with words.

She lunged at him again.

He parried her flurry of blows.

He became aware of the voices around them, some cheers some jeers. Templars that had joined the Inquisition rallied behind the Seeker, while the few mages that had survived the Conclave, not to mention the new recruits, cheered on their brother from Ostwick.

"What is going on here," Commander Cullen shouted, "Why are you all not…OH!"

Nicholai almost looked over at the Commander, that brief distraction almost handed the Seeker an easy victory. He only barely managed to parry her strike.

He back pedaled and resumed his fighting stance.

The Seeker hissed, more from excitement than from frustration.

Trevelyan was pleased.

He could see it in her eyes.

Cassandra Pentaghast enjoyed a challenge. She would not be happy kneeling in prayer in some chantry somewhere.

She welcomed the challenge of combat. It is what gave her meaning; it is what lit her up.

She looked hungrily as she stalked around him. She was breathing heavily, her brow glowing with perspiration.

Nicholai felt an excited shiver run down his spine.

 _This really should not be turning me on, should it?_

The first time he had felt that shiver was when Cassandra had first confronted him on their way to the breach, after the bridge had collapsed.

Her blade was in his face as she demanded that he drop his staff.

He had been willing to submit to her wishes, but she had relented, recognizing the danger they had been in at the time.

Still…the spark that had been there remained.

He felt it.

He grinned at the Seeker.

He thought that she did too.

In another life, he could have seen himself spending his life with a woman like this. Had he not been born a mage, and she been a proper daughter of House Pentaghast, maybe…maybe…

She renewed her attack. He dodged and bowed slightly to her.

"Well done, Seeker," he purred.

She sneered.

His blade was out of position as he dipped in respect.

"You are unwise to lower your guard," she snarled.

She lunged again.

He tried to flow around her as he had earlier, but she did not fall for that trick a second time.

She reversed her sword, and the two locked blades.

Both of them were straining, strength versus strength.

They were eye to eye, almost nose to nose.

His green eyes stared into her dark ones.

Her lips trembled with excitement.

Trevelyan's mouth went dry.

It was all he could do to resist the urge to lean in, to gently kiss those trembling lips.

He hesitated, realizing that that might be a mistaken.

He paid for that hesitation.

Cassandra stepped forward, she moved too quickly, he had no time to back pedal.

She tripped him up with her heel, he stumbled back.

It was all the opening the Seeker needed.

She pushed back and struck out at his sword hand.

The blunted training blade tumbled out of his hand.

Nicholai fell. He ended up flat on his back.

The Seeker lunged, she straddled him, pinning him like some childhood bully.

Her blade found his throat.

She was smiling, exalting in her triumph.

"Yield," she demanded.

Behind him, he heard groans from his fellow mages, and the sound of coins changing hands.

He could not believe it.

Some people had actually started taking bets?

He would have felt insulted if he was not so winded, his heart pounding in his ears.

Cassandra's weight felt…well…it felt good on top of him; he hoped that she would not be able to feel him through her armor.

That…could be a bit awkward.

He gave her a soft smile.

"I yield Seeker," he purred.

"I yield."

She smiled and rose, planting her sword in the snow next to his.

She offered him a hand up, her eyes shone with respect.

"You fought well, Herald," she said.

Nicholai did not hesitate in taking her hand. She had fought well as well.

She pulled him to his feet, and for a moment the two ended up nose to nose again both of them breathing heavily.

Cassandra broke away before he could say anything. She shouted at the recruits to return to their drills, and chastised Cullen for letting them get distracted.

Trevelyan stood silently in the snow, watching her. He was listening to the command in her voice, the sharpness of her moves…

…even the slight sway of her hips.

Nicholai Trevelyan chuckled. He did not even mind losing their little duel.

He had gotten what he wanted, he had seen the woman behind the Seeker, and he liked what he had seen.

He collected his staff, and returned to Haven. Ambassador Montilyet, had wanted to speak to him about his family, and he did not want to risk Natalya or his cousins giving the woman the wrong idea.

His sister…liked to exaggerate sometimes.

Still the memory of Cassandra, her closeness haunted him.

He smiled, wondering what it would take to get that close again.

It would be fun trying to find out.

In the meantime, he still had his memories.

Maker, he thought.

 _ **What a woman!**_


	43. The Victory

**Chapter 43: The Victory**

A storm had been threatening Haven for days a biting wind stung the faces of the citizenry, while the clouds around the mountain had grown dark and heavy. For the Havenites, this was a familiar story; they had grown use to the mountains harsh moods over the years, and began to prepare their little town for the storm to come. Despite this, the Herald remained undaunted. It had taken almost three weeks, but finally all the preparations were made. He did not wish to wait any longer. Early in the afternoon he had set out for the ruins of the Temple of Sacred Ashes, the greatest mages in the rebellion accompanied him, selected as much for their power as their raw skill. They now marched beside him, Solas, and Cassandra.

They could no longer delay.

The time had come…to seal the Breach.

Only a small guard and the mages themselves had been allowed to accompany them. The Seeker had thought it wise to keep the citizenry of Haven back, if things went well, they would be able to see the Breach close from the streets of Haven. The massive rift's disappearance would be easy to see. If something went wrong…well…

It was better that no innocents be close by if they failed.

Rhaena made her way through the crowded streets, once again wrapped in her heavy fur cloak, a shadows of dark and gray fur, the hood pulled up over her long golden hair, hiding her lovely features, not that anyone was looking today.

All eyes remained focused on the Breach, waiting for the Herald to strike his blow. Had anyone asked her, Rhaena Trevelyan would have confessed having butterflies in her stomach.

She frowned up at the massive fade rift.

It was so **huge**.

How could even the Herald of Andraste succeed against something like that?

She could have watched from Chantry hill with Sister Leliana and Ambassador Montilyet, yet she tried to find a closer place. If she could not go to the temple ruins, with her cousin and siblings at least she could try to get closer.

She ended up having to settle for taking a seat on one of the trebuchet platforms. She brushed off the light dusting of snow there and had a seat; from here at least she could feel that she had drawn closer to the breach.

She wrapped herself in her winter cloak, and watched; the cold wind biting her, despite the warmth of the heavy fur, the wind stung her cheeks, turning them a rosy pink.

She frowned up at the sky, like the rest of Haven she now watched…watched and waited. The Herald should have been at the temple ruins by now…

Soon they would all see if their work would pay off.

Beneath her furs, Rhaena shivered, and this time, it was **not** from the cold. Worry ate at her, Cousin Nicholai had been so troubled when he returned from gaining the mages, and he acted as if the Breach had become a more immediate threat than anything else that they had faced. The Herald had said little about his adventure in Redcliffe; it was likely that only the war council had heard the whole story. Whatever had happened there, it had motivated Cousin Nicholai like never before. He had doubled his efforts in the last few weeks to discover the best way to seal the breach, meeting night and day with mages, trying to find just the right ones to accompany him on this mission. Evelyn was up there right now, she knew, and Byron had gone as part of their bodyguard, of all the Trevelyan's here in Haven, only she had been left behind.

She tried not to feel…put off by that.

You are no mage or warrior; she reminded herself, that is why you were not included.

She shivered slightly.

A good head for numbers is of little value at the ruins of the Temple of Sacred Ashes tonight.

She looked up at the heavy clouds, even as a new cold gust of wind knifed through her. The storm might hold off for another day, but the Inquisition could no longer risk it, not after all the preparations had finally been finished. They probably should have done this two days ago, but the Herald had wanted to give his sister time to join them from Denerim, she had asked before she left to be here when they finally sealed the Breach. Cousin Nicholai **had** sent word to capital, informing Natalya Song that they were finally ready. She had written back, claiming to have been on her way, but…

It had been almost a week now, and no one had heard anything else from her.

The Herald was worried about that, he tried not to show it, but Rhaena knew it to be true. She had seen it every time that Cousin Nicholai had gone to meet with Ambassador Montilyet. Every day he had asked after the scouts, checking to see if there were any reports concerning his sister, hoping she had been sighted and would be arriving soon.

So far… they had heard nothing more.

"Mind if I join you, Little Ray?"

She looked down, Varric Tethras stood before her, a welcoming smile on his face, a merchant or confidence man's smile.

Rhaena only just managed to stifle the giggle that bubbled up inside her. She could not help it. She may have been the shortest among her family here, but still…the idea of Master Tethras calling anyone "little."

Still she made no comment about that to the famed author, instead she nodded and motioned for him to sit.

He pulled himself up on the trebuchet next to her, his eyes turned to the breach. The normally talkative Varric, for once, said nothing.

No doubt he understood what was at stake here as well. Perhaps he even shared her worries.

Briefly they sat in a comfortable silence, watching, waiting, and still…no sign of change from the breach.

She frowned slightly.

 _What was taking so long?_

She looked over at Varric, the dwarf's expression remained guarded, as usual, still of all her cousin's companions, she had come to like Master Tethras the most. Cassandra and Blackwall were too intense. The Iron Bull reminded her of all the men her mother had warned her about. Madame Vivienne was too…too highborn, for her taste. Solas was mysterious, and did not seem to want to get to know anyone. Sera was well… _Sera_. Dorian was nice enough, but all the tales she had heard about Tevinter mages growing up made her leery of him. Only Varric seemed reachable, which was odd considering his fame.

He had called her their little Ray of Sunshine when they had first met. Yet, the comment had made him pause, his eyes turned sad for a moment, but only just a moment. She had asked him about that later. Varric had said that she reminded him of someone, a girl who he had known back in Kirkwall, the Sunshine of their lives.

His expression had turned sad again.

He said he hoped that she would come to find more happiness than that other girl had.

She did not press the issue, what was in the past was in the past. She had no desire to remind the dwarf of past pains.

She had read his "Tale of the Champion," Moira Hawke's tale had always made her feel so sad. By the end, she would have embraced the mage, did her best to comfort her after all she had endured. She made no mention of that to Varric, not wishing for him to think that she thought his friend was weak.

According to Cassandra, no one knew where Hawke was currently, which was a shame; they could have used her help.

Yet, even if they had Hawke's help, it may not have been enough. Moira Hawke may have been a hero, but the Breach was likely beyond a hero.

They needed a miracle.

The dwarf glanced over at her, he frowned slightly.

"It is going to work," he said, "Try to have faith."

Her frown deepened.

"What if it doesn't?" she asked.

"It will."

"But what if it doesn't?"

Varric sighed.

"Then we will find some other answer," he said, "From what I've seen so far, your cousin has done some pretty amazing things."

Varric's confident smile returned.

"We just have to try and have a little faith."

She nodded, accepting that. Andraste herself had sent her cousin back to them; surely the Maker's bride had a reason for doing so.

If you could not trust Andraste's Herald who could you trust?

She spotted Commander Cullen in the training yard with his various aids and lieutenants. Like them he had been left behind, just in case something went wrong in the temple ruins.

Though he scared her sometimes, she could not help the fact that her mouth seemed to go dry every time she tried to talk to him. The commander was so fierce, like a lion ready to spring, yet she had seen him working with the young recruits, stern, but not leaving their side until they got the point that he was trying to make. Cullen seemed to care a great deal about the men under his command, even though he likely knew his orders might lead to them being killed.

That last time she had tried to talk to him, she had been so…so…uncertain. She was fine when she was delivering a report from Ambassador Montilyet, business allowed her to keep her head, but just talking to the man, it felt like she was trying to swim across the Waking Sea.

Fortunately, she was not alone in her troubles; Cullen seemed equally effected when they tried to speak of little things. He would not blush exactly, seasoned warriors did not blush, but he did seem distracted, but in a good way. He would excuse himself quickly whenever they found themselves alone, he would apologize most adamantly, but insist that they would talk again.

The memory made her smile.

Varric noticed where her eyes had fallen. The dwarf grinned at her.

"See anything you like, Little Ray?"

She blushed and quickly looked away, not wishing to be teased about this.

Though she could not deny the warmth she had felt in Cullen's presence.

If Father had commanded that she marry someone like Commander Cullen, she might not have left their home in Denerim. They…

A flash of green-yellow light in the distance drew their attention. A bright beam of reached up from where the Temple of Sacred Ashes once stood.

The Herald had begun his attempt.

All eyes remained on the Breach. She had spoken with those that had seen the Herald's first assault on the massive rift. Back then, the breach had been spitting fire and demons all over the mountain, that attack had calmed the Breach, but had not closed it. Now, with the mages at his side…

…the herald hoped to do more.

The light seemed to grow, to reach out like a spider web; even from here they could hear the rumble of power, a sound not unlike thunder. At first, the Breach showed no sign of being effected, but then, something seemed to happen. The clouds that surrounded the breach began to swirl faster, responding to the Herald's distant touch. Like a fist closing around a coin, the clouds began to draw in on the Breach, the yellow green light flickered, as if the rift was resisting the touch of the sky, yet the Herald's attack continued. The web of light continued to reach out, flowing over the Breach.

The clouds continued to draw in, closer and closer.

Rhaena's heart fluttered.

It was working, she thought, it was **truly** working.

The Breach shuddered, light pulsed out of it, as if it was struggling, trying to stay open. The ground shook beneath their feet. She heard distant cries of surprise, but did not look away. Rhaena had never been the most religious, yet she raised her hands to pray.

 _Maker, please here my prayer, grant your bride's prophet, your strength._

 _Give him the strength and wisdom to save us all._

The clouds swirled faster, the hand that they looked like, closed over the Breach, a brief flicker of the strange green light remained, but even that was quickly covered by the heavy clouds.

The winds gusted, and then the ground shook again, thunder rumbled in the heavens, and then, just like that, it all ended.

There was one final boom of thunder, and then…nothing.

Silence reigned over the mountain, the light attacking the Breach vanished, and all fell silent.

In the sky, where the Breach had swirled, now remained only clouds, they swirled briefly, but then began to break up, they still moved around the area where the breach had been, but if you looked closely you could see a bit of blue peeking through those clouds.

Cheers and cries of joy when up from Haven, it washed over Rhaena like a gentle breeze.

They had done it!

The Herald had done it!

The breach was sealed!

A nervous laugh of relief escaped her; she reached over and kissed Master Tethras on the cheek.

The dwarf chuckled

"Easy there, Little Ray," he cautioned, "I'm not **that** easy."

She might have blushed at his comment, but she was too full of joy in that moment, tears ran down her cheeks.

Cousin Nicholai had done it.

He had saved them.

He had saved their world.

They had won!

IOI

The celebration that night in Haven was no small thing. After living under the breach for so many months, everyone could not stop but feel a sense of relief at looking skyward and seeing it gone.

The Herald kept a respectful distance, he seemed tired after his battle, his skin paler then it had been when he had left early in the day. He did not join in their revels, but he did watch over them, a contented look on his face.

Rhaena was not satisfied with that, after everything they had seen, she wanted to do something.

She wanted to **celebrate!**

She danced joyfully around the fire, accepting an ale from Byron when she became thirsty. She danced with more than one partner that night. Even Sigrid the merchant, normally she found the man reprehensible, but tonight, she wanted to shout her relief to the very heavens.

The Breach was gone.

The world could now start to return to normal.

As she danced, her long golden hair flowing around her, her eyes flashing with excitement, and her skin aglow with perspiration, she eagerly sought a _certain_ dance partner. She found herself looking for Ser Cullen, if the brave knight had been here, she would have happily offered him a dance, and why not, their success and a bit of good brown ale had made her feel bold.

She would not blush around the man tonight; tonight they would celebrate just being alive.

Tonight they would rejoice.

The sun finally set, the storm that had been threatening continued to gather, but for now the Inquisition was not afraid.

They were all flush with victory. They…

The chantry bell cut through their revels.

Rhaena paused. The bell that was ringing was **not** a bell of celebration.

She knew it well, Cullen was fond of emergency drills, he had wanted to make sure that Haven was ready when the trouble came a calling.

The people of Haven looked around, confused, some screamed when they realized what it was they were hearing, there was some panic, but that was quickly dealt with.

Rhaena's eyes turned to the distance valley, and the mountain path that led to Haven.

The path was awash with torchlight, hundreds of torches, perhaps even **thousands!**

Her joy vanished as the bell continued to toll…

…The bell calling the recruits and soldiers to arms.

This was not simply a drill that much was clear.

 _Haven was under **attack!**_

People rushed back and forth, preparing to meet this unknown enemy.

Rhaena looked down upon the advancing army in shock.

 _But…we just won,_ she thought, _we sealed the Breach._

She swallowed hard.

 _We won._


	44. A Dark Promise

**Chapter 44: A Dark Promise**

She awoke in darkness.

Natalya Song coughed, her throat felt like it was coated in the roughest of sand. How long had she been out this time, she wondered. She wished that she knew how much time had passed, but that was all but impossible, especially in this place.

She tried to sit up, only to feel a wave of nausea wash over her, her tongue felt like a piece of dried meat, her stomach twisted painfully. She could not say how long her captors had denied her both food and water, but it clearly had been a while.

Did they wish her to starve to death?

It certainly seemed possibility, if that was so, they would not have much longer to wait.

She grew weaker with each passing day.

She licked her dry lips, once again looking around the shadow filled cell. She had not seen her captors for quite some time; perhaps they had decided to leave her here to die. Perhaps, she was now walled up in this cell, and all that remained was for her to lay down and let death take her.

Natalya grimaced.

She would not make it that easy for them, not by a long shot. She…

The sound of key in lock startled her she closed her eyes and diverted her head, awaiting the blinding light that would soon fill the cell.

A shaft of brightness covered her; she tried to shift out of it, tried but was blocked by her bound hands, hands that were still bound painfully behind her back.

She fidgeted, trying not to think of the smell, they had left her chained up in here for such a long time, without even a bucket to relieve herself, she could smell the stink of waste and infection, wondering how bad her wrists had gotten, the manacles they had used to bind her were so tight, blood had started to flow only minutes of her first awakening. She still had enough presence of mind to worry about blood poisoning, if the infection reached her heart, it would be all over.

A shadow filled the open doorway, that and the familiar smell of parchment and incense.

The bard tried not to show fear.

It seemed her host had returned for another visit.

 _Lucky her._

When she had first awakened in this cell, she had raged at her treatment. She was after all, a political emissary of the Inquisition. The King himself had vouched for her safety.

Alistair would have the woman's head if he found out what she was doing to one of his guests.

A small lamp was sat down not far from where she was bound; she glanced up, looking at the sister who confronted her during her first meeting with the king.

Natalya scowled

She would not give the woman the satisfaction of knowing how badly she was hurting…

 _She would **not** break._

A guard sat down a bucket of water near her, that and a ladle. The sister picked it up and filled it with water.

She brought it to Natalya's lips.

"Drink," she said softly.

Natalya glared at her.

The priest chuckled.

"It is not poisoned or drugged," she promised, "We would rather you not die of thirst."

After a second of consideration, Natalya frowned and nodded.

The sister brought the ladle to her lips, and she sipped the warm contents. It was not the most refreshing draught she had ever taken, but at least it would help keep her alive.

Alive was always better, alive there was hope, hope for escape…

…and revenge.

She was not sure how long she had been a prisoner here. She had spent days drifting in and out of consciousness after the attack. She had been on her way back to Haven. Ambassador Montilyet had sent word that the mage rebellion had joined the Inquisition, that they were going to try and seal the breach.

The bard had not thought twice, she had left the capital, accompanied by her guards. Two nights into their journey back they had been attacked. Natalya had been sleeping at the time and had only just emerged from her tent as her last guard had fallen.

The cowards had not even dared confront her face to face. She had been struck from behind; her world had spun and went black…

She had woken up here, a prisoner to cowards and fools.

Her eyes narrowed.

 _She was intent on seeing them all pay for their arrogance._

The sister said nothing, just continued to give her one spoonful of water at a time. When she had finished, she rose to her full height, Natalya did not bother to look up at her.

She knew what was coming next, the same statement that she had heard since her imprisonment began.

"Confess," the sister said flatly.

Natalya said nothing.

"You have nothing to gain by remaining silent," the sister said, "Admit your crimes, admit that you have been following a false prophet and the Maker will offer you his forgiveness."

Again, the bard said nothing.

She refused to give these chantry hens more power over her than they deserved.

She **refused** to play their game.

"We have heard from the chantry in Ostwick," the priest added, "You took a job on our behalf, your employer promised us swift action."

The woman hissed between her teeth.

"Not only did you fail in that mission, but now the problem has **expanded** , the mage had become more trouble than he was worth."

The woman reached down and seized Natalya by the chin.

The bard glared up at her with her large green eyes.

"Admit your sin before the faithful," the sister said, "and you will be free to go."

Natalya almost laughed at that. She was **no** fool.

Once she had given the mothers in Val Royeaux what they wanted, she would turn up dead a few days later. She was still the sister of the Herald of Andraste after all.

 _They could not risk her remaining alive to interfere with their plans._

Song chose to say nothing, if the fools were looking for absolution they would not find it through her.

The sister spat, and pushed her back down on the hard dirt floor. She stepped through the door and it was slammed behind her.

Natalya sighed.

She was once again left in darkness.

IOI

Time passed, she was not sure how much. They had brought her a bowl of gruel at some point, the stuff had tasted foul but she had eaten it, that and a few more ladles of water.

Natalya was only trying to survive now, survive and find her way back…to come back, and take revenge.

She spent much of her time drifting in and out of consciousness. She found herself thinking about so many things. She thought about Ostwick, her mother, Bann Pieter. Nicholai, her beloved Oliver, and just what it would be like to be out of this place.

She had long ago learned how to deal with captivity; she had read books on survival in the libraries of both Ostwick and Orlais, most spoke of the need to let your mind wander, even if your body was chained.

It was useful advice. The Fereldan way of torture was fairly straight forward. Starvation, dehydration, light depravation, and oh yes…stripping a prisoner of his or her clothes. Degradation was said to be an important part in Fereldan information extraction techniques. Leaving a person chained and naked in the dark was yet another step in the breaking process.

The door to the cell opened again, she remained where she lay, not even bothering to try and cover herself up. She was filthy, starving, and in pain, but she refused to let the bitch see just how bad she was hurting.

"Serah Song?" she heard the priest say.

She did not respond.

She would not give them the satisfaction. She...

 _ **SPLOOSH!**_

She gasped as she was hit by a blast of wet and cold.

She sat upright a straggled cry on her lips; she looked up into her captor's face.

The priestess looked down at her prisoner smugly, a guard stood behind her holding a now empty bucket of water.

Natalya's eyes narrowed.

They had thrown it on her, leaving her cold and shivering, but still she refused to let them see any discomfort, she buried the pain and the fury she felt deep inside herself.

She glared at her captor.

"I have news Serah Song," she said haughtily.

"You may not like it."

Natalya continued to glare, choosing to remain silent.

If the sister was intimidated by that glare, she did not let it show; in fact…the woman looked downright… _triumphant._

Natalya felt a cold ball of ice forming in her stomach.

"It seems that your testimony is no longer as… _necessary_ as it once was," the woman said, "We have just received word from one of our agents in the Hinterlands."

The sister leaned in closer, hoping that Song would appreciate what she was about to tell her.

The bard remained silent glaring at her.

That glare faded when the woman final spoke.

"The village of Haven is gone," she said, "Destroyed by forces unknown."

Natalya's eyes narrowed.

"You lie," she croaked.

The woman chuckled.

"I swear on both the names Andraste and the Maker that I am not," the sister continued, "Reports of what has happened are confused, but the results are not in question."

The priest shook her head.

"We have heard all kinds of crazy stories; demons destroyed the village, creatures with crystals growing out of their skin. We have even heard reports that it was an Archdemon, that it caused an avalanche and buried both Haven and the Inquisition leadership with it."

The sister sighed when she spoke again, her voice dripped with false sympathy.

"It seems that the so called "Herald of Andraste" perished in this attack. That the mage tried to face the Archdemon alone, and was slain for his trouble."

She shook her head again.

"He must have started believing all the lies that the Inquisition was spreading about him. He must have thought himself invincible, that the Maker was holding his hand."

The sister kneeled down. Natalya resisted the urge to shy away, fear that she was about to be struck.

The priest managed a sad smile.

"It seems that fate has completed your original mission, Song," she continued, "The Inquisition and their mage allies were able to seal breach before the attack. Not surprising, considering that the mages were likely the cause of this whole mess to begin with."

Again, Natalya said nothing; she was still digesting what she had just heard.

 _The Inquisition was smashed?_

 _Nicholai…was dead?_

A wave of conflicting emotions washed over her. She remembered lying wounded after the conclave, hoping against hope that her brother was dead, that she had been spared the pain of killing him herself. Then she remembered their reunion, him embracing her, him calling her sister. She thought about the two of them doing what they could for those poor people in the Hinterlands…

She…he…they…

Natalya blinked, her eyes stung with unshed tears, she was too dehydrated for true tears.

It had to be a trick, she thought.

 _The woman **had** to be lying._

Yet, as she looked into the priest's eyes she knew she was not. Natalya Song had always counted herself skilled in the art of reading people, of recognizing the truth from a lie…

The woman was not lying; this was not some cruel game. There was not enough gloating, only grim satisfaction.

The woman believed what she was saying.

She believed that Nicholai **was** dead.

Song took a shuddering breath.

No, she thought.

 _ **Not**_ _Nicholai!_

 _ **Not**_ _my_ _ **brother!**_

"There is no more reason for you to endure further pain," the sister advised, "The Inquisition will collapse without its base and its figure head. You can still save yourself. Confess, and you will be allowed to return to Ostwick. The chantry guarantees you safe passage."

Natalya looked down at the dirt floor; she managed to catch her reflection in a muddy puddle near her. The face staring back at her was one she hardly recognized.

Her blond hair was a rat's nest, her cheeks and forehead were dirty, her lips were cracked and dry. She looked like some wretch who had just climbed out of a slave pit in the Tevinter Imperium, more animal than person at this point; her green eyes were wild, both with fear and desperation, like an animal with its paw caught in a trap. She noticed all this in the seconds she saw her reflection, a part of her mind had managed to distance itself from the rest of her.

She swallowed hard.

In that moment, she realized how close she was to surrendering. If Nicholai _was_ dead, what did it matter now? Why not speak up and tell the Mothers what they wanted to hear.

She suppressed a whimper.

Why should she not simply make the pain…stop?

 _It would be so easy,_ she thought.

 _Just say what they wanted to hear, and then…it would be all over. They would either kill her or let her go._

 _Either way, she would go free._

Before the conclave, she might have taken their offer. What did it matter now, dead was dead. It was not like Nicholai could ride to her rescue from beyond the veil of the fade.

Before the Conclave, she **would** have taken their offer.

Her eyes narrowed.

Now…she wouldn't. She couldn't.

She met the sister's eyes, her green feral gaze pinning her, a look that was both cold and terrible.

She had an offer of her own, or rather…a _counter_ proposal…

…A promise.

"You…you want a...a confession?" she asked.

"Yes," the sister replied.

"Fine," Natalya croaked, "I...I... will give you a confession."

The sister smiled.

The look made her want to crush the woman's nose. Had Natalya not been bound...

she tried to smile herself.

"But it will not be the confession that you want," Natalya added.

The priest's eyes narrowed.

Now, Natalya Song did begin to smile.

"My brother…is...is not what you think. He had every reason in the world to hate you, and your kind. You ripped him away from his family. You turned our father against him. You convinced everyone who knew and loved him that he was cursed with magic, your dogma cast him aside like he had some evil disease…"

Natalya shook her head.

"And in spite of it all, he still forgave. He remained loyal to the circle. He did everything that was expected of him. When the Templars broke away, he still advised patience, that the mages could trust the chantry to restore order if given a chance."

The bard sighed.

"My brother is… _was_ an _idealist_ , he was a good man, with noble ideas. He wants to show the world that magic is not to be feared, that he was not to be feared. Magic is to serve, he both knew and accepted that. He did all those things because he is... _was_ a good man."

Natalya Song's smile widened.

"He is good," she said coldly, "Me…I'm not."

Her green eyes flashed with hate, had she not been chained she would have leapt upon the sister and ripped out her throat with her teeth if she had to.

He eyes blazed with barely contained fury, fury bordering on madness.

"I've done…horrible things in the name of my family. I did it in the name of the father whom I love, and who will likely never accept me as one of his own, to him I was a mistake, the result of a moment of weakness. I did whatever he asked of me, so that he...so that...my...my brother's hands could remain clean."

Her smile was shark like, the sister backed away even as the guard watching the display looked like he was about to reach for his sword.

Natalya almost laughed.

"One time my father had me take one of his enemies, you would not know his name, but he was a man who had offered our family insult. My father wanted him gone, but in a way that would not be forgotten. He told me to make hurt, to make an example of this man."

The bard licked her lips.

"I kept that man alive for _three_ days, three wondrous days of agony. By the end...he...he was begging me for death. He begged my...my father's forgiveness, he prayed to the Maker to make it stop, but I did **not** stop. I had my orders and...and a contract to fulfill…"

She shrugged.

"I never found out what that man did. I never knew what insult he gave my family, and in truth. He...he never said, and now...thinking...thinking back, I realize something. I don't care…I did not care then, and I don't care now."

She leaned forward, had she not been chained she would have risen.

She glared at her captors.

"If I would do that to someone who had done nothing to me, who had never hurt me personally, what do you think I will do to you when I get out of here? How long will **you** last? Who will you beg to when all you want is to be freed from your pain?"

The sister glared at her, and despite her position of power, Natalya thought she saw fear in her eyes.

"You're a beast," she spat, ""You should be destroyed."

Natalya Song chuckled.

"Oh honey, you have not seen _beastly_ yet, but you will. I promise you that."

She grinned madly at her captor.

"You...you will."

The sister retreated, her guard falling in step behind her.

Natalya smiled as she lay back down in the dirt. Her wrists hurt, she was cold, and she was starving, but…

She had brought fear into her enemy's heart.

Bann Pieter, her father, would have agreed.

Sometimes, revenge is necessary…

Love was good, but fear could be better when it came to others.

Tonight she had taught the sister fear, and if she ever escaped she would teach her pain one day, a most _**exquisite**_ pain.

That thought warmed her heart.

It would keep her going…

…for now.

IOI

Sometime later, she awoke again.

She could hear the sounds of battle. The clank of steel and the cries of the dying.

For the moment, she allowed herself to feel a flicker of hope.

Had someone come to rescue her, or had one of the chantry's enemies simply decided to punish the sister and her friends for their impudence.

Either could have been possible, and Song was shocked to discover that she did not care.

If they killed her, she was free. If they released her, she was free.

In the end, maybe that was all that mattered.

She had gone a long time without food or water; she was so weak now she could barely move. The bravado of her speech…when was it…three days ago, four? She could no longer remember, it had prompted her captors to stop feeding her, or giving her water.

Now she lay on the floor of her cell, waiting for death. She…

She heard voices outside the cell, and the brief sound of battle, and a cry cut short, a man's cry.

She smiled weakly.

It seemed the lecher that had spent so many days leering at her had finally met his end, such a shame.

She almost chuckled.

She would have preferred to have ended the bastard herself.

She heard the sound of keys in a lock. She curled up into a fetal ball. That was all she could after so many days in darkness.

The door swung open.

She winced against the brightness of the light.

A lone figure stood in the door way, the light was too bright for her to see who it was.

Then…she heard a voice, a very familiar voice.

"Search the rest of this warehouse," Cassandra Pentaghast said, "Find whoever was in charge here, and bring them to me."

Natalya almost laughed, of all the people to come and save her…

Cassandra Pentaghast was the **last** person she had expected.

The warrior woman kneeled down, her gauntleted hand touched Natalya's shoulder, the simple act made the bard wince.

She heard the Seeker snort.

"Find Madame Defer," she said, "We will need healing magic."

"Yes ser," a soldier said from somewhere behind, she heard boot steps marching away.

Byron? She thought it was Byron. The voice certainly sounded like her cousin.

Natalya's body shook with dry sobs. She had held on for so long. She feared she might wake and find this all some fever dream.

She felt Cassandra's grip tighten.

"It is okay, Song," she murmured, "You are safe now. It took Leliana's people a while, but she was able to find you."

She glanced up at the woman with almost feral eyes.

Cassandra tried to smile.

"Nicholai will be pleased to see you are alright."

That one sentence gave her hope.

 _ **He** _ was alive!

Nicholai _**was**_ alive!

Her pain had **not** been for nothing.

Cassandra's blade came down breaking the chain that bound her to the wall.

Natalya let out a small sigh of relief.

She felt the Seeker cover her with a cloak. Unfortunately, all she could do was sigh, she could not stand, she could barely speak. All she could do was lay there, she was too weak to do anything else…

…But not for long.

Natalya smiled at the thought.

If the Inquisition did not find the sister who had been behind all this, she intended to do so herself.

 _It would take time,_ she realized, _but time was what she had._

She had made the chantry hen a promise.

She smiled weakly.

She intended to keep it…

And…she would.

See you soon, bitch, she thought grimly.

See you _**real**_ soon.


	45. Inquisitor

**Chapter 45: Inquisitor**

The tower on which he stood was old, practically ancient, built long ago by people that no one even remembered anymore, yet it still stood strong, unmoving, like the man who now stood on its parapet. A cold mountain breeze blew over the castle walls. Icy flakes stung the man's face. The frigid wind tussled his hair.

Yet, he remained unmoved…

Nicholai Trevelyan stood with his hands behind his back, looking out over the mountain peaks. Beyond those peaks were the golden fields and lush meadows of Orlais, a land in chaos. It now fell to him to end that chaos.

He sighed.

It was the first time that he had actually gotten to be alone since they arrived here. So much was expected of him now. He had done everything he could back in Haven, and once again the people had rewarded him with yet more responsibility. He had accepted, of course, how could he not? In truth, he had feared the coming of this day, feared, but did not shirk his responsibility.

He was the son of Bann Pieter Trevelyan. Trevelyan's did not turn away from their duties, they embraced them. That fact did not lessen his concern however, he was extremely concerned how this would all turn out, and had grown to miss the solitude he had enjoyed when he had been just another agent of the Inquisition, an important agent perhaps, but just another agent, never the less.

He needed it, to simply get away. So much had happened since the attack on Haven. The world itself seemed a much larger place now, and far stranger than he had ever imagined.

The mage frowned slightly.

Now it had fallen to him to try to put it right. He had to, he…the newly named leader of the Inquisition…the Inquisitor…

He shook his head.

It still seemed all so impossible. Yet here he was. He was now Inquisitor, whatever that was supposed to mean.

Even over the brisk mountain breeze, he could still hear the sounds below him. More and more survivors continued to flock here. Survivors and pilgrims both, they continued to arrive, looking for protection, for guidance.

It fell to him now, to give them the guidance they all sought, to lead them…

It was for that reason that Cassandra and Leliana had finally came to him, offered him both the blade and title of Inquisitor, a leader had been needed, and his actions had set him apart and above anyone else here. It was now his place to lead the Inquisition.

It was now his mission to stop the plans of the Elder One, the mad darkspawn calling itself Corypheus.

If that was even possible?

Nicholai winced; his ribs were still heavily wrapped. He had cracked more than a few when Corypheus had thrown him against the trebuchet back in Haven, the same trebuchet that had buried Haven and spoiled the Elder One's victory.

The memory still haunted him, the sight of the mountain coming down on top of him, even as Corypheus was lifted and carried up by his pet dragon, a massive tainted beast, an Archdemon some called it.

Did that mean that the world faced another Blight? Had the Elder One enslaved an Archdemon?

Whether it was an Archdemon or not, the monster had helped Corypheus savage Haven, it had turned their base into a graveyard. Archdemon or no, it gave the creature a powerful advantage, one of many.

It was an advantage that the Inquisition, his inquisition would have to find a way to overcome.

"This war is unlike any we could have anticipated," Cassandra had said.

In that, the Seeker was correct.

When they had gained the support of the mages, he had come to expect that they would likely have to fight the Templars. The Lord Seeker had made his intentions clear back in Val Royeaux. When the Breach was sealed, he had hoped that they might reach some kind of accord with the Templars. Perhaps he could bargain with those amongst the order who were more moderate, who would accept what the Inquisition had done and join them in healing the wounds left by the Breach. If not, he knew they would have to fight the order, possibly to the death. He had not feared such a fight; the Templars were just men and women after all. He had fought and killed Templars during the rebellion. They were human, and a human could be killed.

The Templars that had come for them in Haven were anything, but…

During his brief journey into the future, he had seen what Red Lyrium could do to a person, but even that had not prepared him for the Red Templars. Shards of lyrium grew from their skin, poking out like quills from under their armor. Some of them had even looked worse; the lyrium had bloated their bodies, filling them with dark power, and a killing fury that no man could match.

He could still hear their cries, a sound that was somewhere between a wail of agony and pure ecstasy. These creatures did not fight like men, they swarmed like soldier ants, ripping and tearing into Haven's defenders. Nicholai had led a sortie out to deal with them, to give the trebuchet crews time to bury the advancing monsters; they had succeeded, at first. That is when the dragon arrived.

That was the moment where Haven had started to burn.

IOI

Nicholai looked down at his marked hand; the glow of the Breach remained. His power over the rifts remained, and now that the Breach was sealed, it should not have been hard to track down and seal the lingering rifts in its wake.

Yet any such missions would have to wait, they needed to secure their new home, once this castle, this place Solas had called Skyhold was secure.

Then the Inquisition would once again be able to go on the offensive.

IOI

The great tainted dragon had flown over Haven raining down fire and death on the defenders. It attacks cut a path for the Red Templars. It allowed the monsters to regroup and strike hard at the Inquisition. All had seemed lost until Chancellor Roderick had spoken up. Nicholai had not even realized that the man had still even been in Haven. He told them of a path out the Chantry, a path known only to him with so many others dead at the Conclave. The man had been run through by a red Templar, he was dying, yet he still managed to help them escape, so many who would have been lost otherwise.

Nicholai had chosen to stay behind, the Elder One wanted him. If the enemy wanted him above all others, then that is what he would offer.

He had taken only a small company of Inquisition soldiers with him. Those poor boys and girl had to have known it was a suicide mission, but they had stepped up just the same. Nicholai had watched them fall as they prepared the last Trebuchet; they set it to fire on the mountain overlooking Haven, to cause one last final great avalanche. It would bury the town, destroy what was left, but it would also take much of the Red Templar army with it.

Nicholai had thought it worse the risk.

Had Natalya been there, she would have cursed him for a fool. She would have berated him for throwing his life away. She would never have understood.

Perhaps it was best that she not been here.

He should have died at the Conclave. He then thought of those he had left behind when he and Dorian had been transported through time, they had died to get him home safe.

It was time that he repaid the favor.

All had been ready; the Trebuchet loaded and ready to fire that is when the dragon made another pass, its blast flung him away while his last surviving allies burned.

That was when the Elder One had come for him, personally.

Dorian had thought that the Elder One was a simple Magister, some mage that had aspired to godhood. As it turned out, the Tevinter outcast was both right and wrong.

Corypheus _**had**_ been a Magister, once, but then he and his allies had used their spells to enter the golden city, and they were cast out, returning to the world as monsters, as darkspawn.

Corypheus was one of the **first** darkspawn.

It was an old story, a story that every child in Thedas knew. The ancient Magisters, poisoned by their greed and pride, and tried to seize the golden city of the Maker for their own. It was why magic was so feared, and the reason the chantry had always given for why the world suffered Blights. It was the sins of those ancient mages that had brought doom upon the world. Nicholai knew many of his fellows who doubted the story, they saw it as a fable, and excuse for why the chantry and the Templars had kept them leashed so tightly.

Seeing Corypheus, he knew now that that was not entirely the case.

The darkspawn was far taller than any human, his body misshapen, skeletally thin, with very long arms and claws. The taint had twisted the monster's body, but his face…his face remained mostly human, human enough to say that he had been human…once.

While his dragon had stood watch, Corypheus had snarled accusations at Nicholai. The monster called him both a thief and a pretender, that he had stolen the fruits of a spell that had been years in the making.

It was then that the Elder One had tried to remove the mark from Nicholai's hand, the anchor as he had called it. The creature had held up a strange looking orb, an orb, that when it glowed sent waves of bright hot pain through Nicholai's hand.

Corypheus was clear when speaking of his objectives. He intended to finish what he had started millennia ago, and seize the golden city, not for his gods this time, but for himself. The anchor was to have been his key, but it was now lost to him. Undaunted, the monster vowed to continue his mission. He would conquer Thedas for Tevinter. He would give the world the nation and god it deserved.

Nicholai kept him talking just long enough. Cullen had promised to send up an arrow when they had cleared the pass, when they were out of the way of the Avalanche. As soon as Nicholai saw that arrow he had fired the Trebuchet. Corypheus, too surprised to do anything, simply stood there while the mountain came down. His dragon scooped him up, and flew away before the slide hit.

Nicholai Trevelyan had not been so lucky. If the dragon had not blasted open the hole leading to the old mine shaft, he likely would have been killed. Trevelyan was not sure how long he had lain there, but finally he had managed to stagger to his feet, he had found a path through the mines, and then out into the storm. He had wandered through the snow, wounded, and half blinded by the storm. He was still not sure how he found his way back to the Inquisition. He had been so cold, so ready to simply give in and die.

It was Cassandra who had found him, brought him back to their camp.

It had been there that Mother Giselle had restored their broken faith. The Dawn will come, a song almost as old as the chantry itself had echoed through the mountains, and the survivors of the Inquisition had bowed to Nicholai, offering him their aid and their fealty. It was in that moment that Solas had pulled him aside, told him about Skyhold, and how to reach it.

For the Inquisition, it all seemed as if it had all been preordained, that the Maker himself had guided Nicholai to this place, this might castle hidden in the Frostback mountains.

Was it any wonder they had chosen to make him their Inquisitor?

The mage sighed.

For the time being they were safe, they had the numbers, and Skyhold had the defenses they would need to put up a fight.

They might have lost Haven, but they had gained a new home, and with it, a new purpose.

They would stop the Elder One…

…no matter the cost.

IOI

"Cousin?"

Nicholai turned; he had asked not to be disturbed until Kurtz got back from his scouting mission.

Cousin Rhaena stood before him. She bowed her head in submission.

Most of their soldiers and staff were… _intimidated_ by him, especially now that he had faced the Elder One and lived. Since that time, they had turned to his cousins to bring any messages that he wished to hear, and since Byron and Evelyn were so tied up with their duties. It usually fell to Rhaena attend him.

The fact that she was still recovering from her own injuries did not seem to matter to anyone, except maybe him. She had burned her hands badly back in Haven, trying to free researcher Minaeve when she had become trapped near a sledge of burning oil pots. The pots had exploded and his poor cousin had been struck in the head by a piece of debris. She might have died there as well, had Ser Lysette not found her and Minaeve. The Templar had cut down three of her red brothers, and still managed to get the girls to safety.

Rhaena now stood before him, both her hands wrapped in heavy bandages, a single wrap covering her forehead. The first time she had approached him, he had yelled at her for being up and about. She needed her rest too, after all. After that, she had walked around him like he was a dragon or something. The fact that she was now afraid, or intimidated by him, made him feel bad.

The look in her eyes. It made him feel like he had just kicked a puppy.

After that, for her sake, he tried to be a civil and polite as possible.

"Yes?" he inquired.

"Forgive me, cousin," she said quickly, "I mean…Your Worship. Um…ah…Begging your pardon, Your Worship, but…um…Ser Kurtz has returned."

"It is alright Rhaena," he said, "Thank you, please send Kurtz up."

Yes, Your Worship," she said with a bow.

The sell-sword arrived a few minutes later, looking no worse the wear, considering all that they had faced since the attack.

Tough old bastard, Nicholai thought to himself, Kurtz might have been surly, foul mouthed, and insolent to his commanders, but he was also one of the toughest men that Nicholai had ever known.

He was glad the man had made it through the battle; they would need him in the days to come.

"Find anything?" Nicholai inquired.

"Few stragglers," the sell-sword answered, "Got lost in the mountains after the attack. I don't think we are going to be finding many more lad. Those red bastards knew what they were doing. Not many left out there to find, not alive anyway."

Nicholai sighed.

He had been afraid of that.

They had lost good people defending Haven. It was unfortunate; those people would be missed…

…More lives that had been lost because of him.

Kurtz approached unbidden. The sell-sword did not stand on ceremony, and Nicholai did not expect him to. He was used to Kurtz' honesty, and needed it more than ever now.

Being named Inquisitor was a huge responsibility.

The old bastard would help keep him grounded.

Kurtz stood at his side glancing out over the mountains, and back into Skyhold. The castle had fallen into disrepair over the years, and it would take time to get back to fulling working order. Still…it was better than what they had in Haven.

It was a fact that even the dour Kurtz seemed to agree with.

"She may not be the prettiest maid at the ball, lad," he said nodding, "But she has good strong bones and dressings."

The sell-sword grinned.

"We will be able to fight here, if it comes to that."

Nicholai nodded. Blackwall, Cassandra, and Iron Bull all agreed with that assessment. If the Red Templars came anywhere near here, they would have plenty of warning, and the weapons needed to give them a very warm reception.

Nicholai glanced back at Rhaena, who was still waiting if he needed her to run somewhere with a message.

"Any word on Cassandra?" he asked.

"None Cousin," she replied.

Nicholai nodded again.

They had still had no word of Natalya. Nicholai had finally begun to grow worried. It would take time to get Skyhold battle ready, and for the moment they were in no shape to go on the offensive.

That had freed up Cassandra for him.

"I seem to have misplaced my sister," he had told her, "I wonder if you could go look into that for me. Find out what happened."

He knew that Cassandra did not like Nat very much, but he hoped that she would understand how important this was for him. He had even prepared an argument for her going.

As it turns out, she had not needed it.

"It will be done, Inquisitor," she said with a bow, "I will not fail."

She had turned without another word, all focused on her duty. Her coldness had surprised him; he thought that they had moved beyond such things.

She is a soldier, his conscience reminded him, she is used to following orders, and the superior she has just helped name has given her one. Do not be surprised if she obeys without question...

…All that was true of course, but that did not make it any easier to accept.

His feelings towards Cassandra had been changing of late.

He hated to think that him accepting this position had ended that.

So Cassandra was on the hunt, she would hopefully send word back soon, hopefully to say that she had found his sister safe and sound, in the meantime.

Varric had offered him something…interesting.

The dwarf claimed that he had encountered Corypheus once before, and that he knew someone who might be able to shed more light on the darkspawn Magisters intentions.

When Nicholai had given him the go ahead to contact this purpose, the dwarf suggested that they keep this matter quiet for now. His friend's situation was…complicated, it was better that she arrived in secret, and met the new Inquisitor in a more private place.

Nicholai had agreed, and the dwarf had headed off to send word to his friends. The only other person who had heard their conversation had been Sister Leliana.

The former bard shook her head.

"If Varric is contacting who I think he is contacting," she said. "Cassandra is going to kill him."

Nicholai's brow furrowed.

Perhaps it was good that Cassandra was off hunting Natalya.

He had no desire to cause any friction between to members of his inner circle. He…

Rhaena shrieked.

Nicholai and Kurtz reached for their blades. Rhaena Trevelyan was backed up against the tower's edge, her eyes wide with fear and surprise.

"Who are you," she shouted, "Where did you come from!?"

Nicholai lowered his blade.

His cousin's fear was understandable, but not necessary.

The young man who had so startled her sat on the edge of the stone walkway, idly swinging his feet back and forth. His head was tilted slightly, like he was listening down on the courtyard, he barely paid her any attention at all.

His clothes were dirty and tattered, a simple tunic and stained leggings. A large wide brimmed hat hid most of his features. Yet Nicholai remembered well the face hidden by that hat, a young face, a boy no more than twenty a boy with dirty blond hair, and strange haunted eyes.

"It is okay," the young man said to Rhaena, "You will forget me in a moment."

At Nicholai's side, Kurtz rolled his eyes.

"Damn it Cole," he said, "Lad…what did I tell you about just popping up like that."

The boy did not look at him; most of his attention was still focused down.

"Cole?" Kurtz repeated.

"You told me not to," he replied, still barely acknowledging them.

Nicholai looked up at his cousin. Rhaena had a strange dreamy expression on her face, the fear and shock was gone, without another word she turned and went back down into the courtyard. She passed by Cole without saying a thing.

The usually unflappable Kurtz shuddered.

"Okay," he said, "That is not creepy at all."

The new Inquisitor snorted.

Cole had shown up in Haven shortly before the Red Templar attack, and had been a source of debate ever since.

Cole had saved Kurtz during the attack, even the old sell-sword admitted that, and it was not something he forgot.

Unlike Cole himself, Nicholai thought.

It was quite easy to forget Cole.

Far too easy in fact.

 **A/N: I know I brushed over the Battle of Haven, sorry about that for all you who wanted to read it. Cole is going to have a little bigger part in this story than he did in Inquisition. Any thoughts or ideas, feel free to shoot me a review. Until next time dear readers.**

 **DG**


	46. Fireside

**Chapter 46: Fireside**

She made her way through the courtyard, passed the tents and campfires. As the last of the sun's rays vanished behind the mountains, Rhaena Trevelyan made her way up the steps to the main hall of Skyhold, or rather what would be the main hall, once the masons finished repairing it.

The stone walls shielded most from the cold mountain winds, and even if they did not the ground felt warm underfoot. The few scholar that had accompanied them believed that a network of hot underground springs ran beneath Skyhold, making the land within the castle not only warm, but a place that was capable of growing crops, had the great castle ever came under siege.

Not that an army would have an easy time of that, Rhaena thought with the hint of a smile on her lips. She might not have been a warrior born, but even she could see the narrow mountain roads, the walls with clear view in all direction, not to mention the peak itself would make any siege difficult, which of course was likely why whoever had built this place had chosen this location.

Skyhold was **not** Haven. It would be a hard not to crack, for anyone, even an army being led by the Elder One, or so everyone hoped.

The soldiers nodded to her as she passed, and did not offer a single word of challenge. Her face was known to any who knew Ambassador Montilyet. Even before the fall of Haven, the staff that served the Ambassador was small, and all their guards had quickly come to recognize them from their many comings and goings in the Inquisition's service. Rhaena was likely the most well-known of all of them, if not for her skills, then her place as the new Inquisitor's cousin most certainly.

She glanced around the great hall, the Inquisition did what it could to secure the room, and make it livable. Broken stone and rafter had been cleared away, but the towers were still off limits, at least until the masons that were coming from Orzammar could verify that they were safe.

The Inquisitor slept here, as well as the members of the inner circle. Rhaena was allowed in given her role in service to the Ambassador, though she still wondered if it would not be better if she remained with the rest of the refugees.

The inner circle was the Inquisitor's fist. She felt more than a little intimidated by them, all but Master Tethras of course.

It was hard not to like Varric Tethras; he was likely one of the most approachable people she had ever known, certainly the most approachable dwarf. The few that she had made the acquaintance of during her service to her father had been business men first, and people second.

It was nice to meet a dwarf who was the other way around. Not that she would say anything about that, no, she had no desire to insult the famed author.

"Ah Lady Trevelyan, good evening to you," a cultured voice called out, "Come and join us by the fire on this cold starry night."

She smiled and offered up a small curtsey.

"You are too kind, Lord Pavus," she said, "I accept, with both humility and gratitude.

The Tevinter mage chuckled.

"It is just Dorian, my dear," he said jovially, "My father is still living, as far as I know, he is the true Lord Pavus. I am merely a wandering traveler from Tevinter, one of many of the lonely souls caught up in the Inquisition."

She sat down beside the hearth, one the hall had been repaired it would be one of many, but for now it was one of only two that were working. Dorian leaned against the stone wall, munching contently on an apple. To his left sat Ser Blackwall, the barrel chested grim faced Grey Warden.

Rhaena bowed her head under his hard gaze. As a native Ferelden, she had healthy respect for the order. The Blight had only been ended a decade ago.

The respect the wardens had gained for that victory still carried a great deal of weight.

To her immediate right sat Grand Enchanter Fiona. The dark haired Orlesian elf seemed almost waif like under a heavy cloak that was clearly meant for someone much large in stature.

"Greetings Milady," the elven rebel, the **former** elven rebel sat with a slight nod.

Rhaena returned it, once again fighting back the sense that she was well out of her depth in such company.

She glanced around, hoping to find the Ambassador, that way she could make an excuse and disappear before she embarrassed herself. Yet, Lady Josephine was nowhere in sight, perhaps have already retired to one of the side rooms that had been declared safe for habitation.

She shoved her bandaged hands deep into her cloak, feeling more than little self-conscious about them.

She had not wished to draw any attention to herself, but in doing so, she had done just that.

Blackwall looked at her, his cold eyes narrowed.

Fiona's elven ears twitched.

"Your hands child," she said, "Do they pain you?"

"Not really," the girl said morosely as she held up her two bandaged appendages. "My fingers are okay, I should not lose any of them, thank the Maker. The healers gave me a salve; it should help with the redness."

The girl frowned.

"There will be some scarring though," she said, "The burns were bad, or so I've been told. Magic helped, but…it can't fix everything."

The Grand Enchanter reached out and touched her arm.

"I heard what you did," she said, "That was quite brave, pulling poor Minaeve from the fire."

The older woman smiled.

"You should be proud."

Rhaena shrugged.

"She is my friend."

Dorian gave her a good natured chuckle.

"Fortunately it was only your hands, my dear," he said, "That is what gloves are for, or so I have heard."

Rhaena winced and shoved her hands back beneath her cloak.

Both Fiona and Blackwall glared at him.

"What?" The Tevinter asked.

She had spoken to Lord Dorian when he first arrived here. He had not been so…insensitive back then. She had heard Byron say something about that; that the Tevinter seemed to be having trouble dealing with what had happened in Haven.

Perhaps that was all it was, she thought, considering that they faced a monster spawned from Tevinter…

How would she have reacted if they had learned that Corypheus had come from Denerim?

Blackwall was not so forgiving; he growled and shook his head.

"So what if they are scarred?" he said.

"Ser Blackwall?" Rhaena said glancing up.

"I said, so what if they are scarred," he repeated, "You survived a battle that many did not. You were scarred saving a friend's life. You have nothing to be ashamed of girl, if anyone looks at you and says otherwise they are a fool."

The warden pinned her with his cold eyes.

"If anyone asks after your scars, show them off proudly; wear them like badges of honor, which they are."

The warden sighed.

"You are a brave woman. You have nothing to be ashamed about."

The compliment made her blush.

Fiona nodded and gently patted Rhaena's arm.

"Listen to Blackwall child," she said, "He speaks wisely."

Rhaena looked down at her bandages; she considered what the warden was saying.

She could have done nothing, she realized. She could have run and saved herself, but if she had then poor Minaeve would not be here, and it would have been all her fault.

The girl shuddered.

Had she let the researcher die, she would have never forgiven herself.

"You did right."

Rhaena jumped, the spot to her right was no longer unoccupied.

The young man in the ragged leathers did not look at her. He kept his head down and his head turned away. His features were mostly hidden by a large wide brimmed hat. She had not seen or heard him approach, yet as she looked upon him now she had the strangest sensation.

Surely she had seen this young man somewhere before.

Blackwall glared at the boy.

"Cole," he said harshly, "Must you?"

The boy shrugged, still refusing to meet Rhaena's eyes.

Both of their mage companions frowned.

"You are him, aren't you?" Fiona said coldly, "You were the Ghost of the Spire? You were the murderer?"

The boy, Cole shrugged.

"I didn't understand what I was," he said.

Rhaena blinked.

She did not know who the ghost of the spire was supposed to be, but considering that the strange boy did not protest the Grand Enchanter's accusations said more than anything else.

Dorian sighed and shook his head.

"Lady Trevelyan," he said, "Allow me to introduce you to Cole. You have likely met him already once or twice, but you might not have any memory of it."

The Tevinter frowned.

"Apparently our new friend is capable of doing that."

Rhaena looked at the boy. She still did not quite understand what she was hearing.

"I try to help," Cole said, "To fix the hurt, sometimes it is easier to do that when people don't remember me."

He looked up at Rhaena, his eyes strange. He did not seem to just see her but to look inside her.

That strange gaze made her blush.

"He worries about you," Cole said to her, "He saw you in the camp, burned and unconscious. He blames himself. Could not save her, could not save her, and could not save any of them."

Cole shook his head.

"You should go to him. You shouldn't be afraid. It will help you, it will help him. Seeing you, it will not stop the pain, the hungry gnawing pain, but it will help. He will feel better knowing that you are better."

"Who?" Rhaena asked, "Who worries, who should I go see."

"Cullen," the boy said, "He thinks of you, he worries. You can help. You can help the hurt."

Cole looked up and away.

"I should go. I hear them calling, they need…help."

There was a gust of wind behind them, making Rhaena turn, making her look away.

When she looked back, the boy, Cole was gone."

When she looked up she saw that her three companions were looking at her.

Dorian gave her a sly smile.

"Sooo," he said, "Sounds like Ser Cullen needs your help."

Rhaena blushed and looked away. Part of her wished to find a very small hole and crawl into it. Another part of her was suddenly worried about Ser Cullen. She had seen him in the courtyard this morning, he looked so tired.

She hoped that he was alright. She had no desire to add to his problems. Perhaps she would check in on him, just to make sure he was feeling okay.

Still…the girl shook her head.

She wished the boy had not said such things around the others, surely he could have talked to her somewhere more private, surely he could.

She shook her head.

She looked up at Dorian.

"Who was that boy," she inquired.

"What was his name?"

Dorian chuckled.

"His name is Cole," the Tevinter informed her, "Not that you are likely to remember that later."

Rhaena blinked, she gave the three a curious look.

What was that supposed to mean?

"May I join you?"

The four looked up to find Solas standing behind them. The elven apostate's pale skin seemed to glow orange in the light of the fire.

He smiled slightly at Rhaena.

"You need not fear Cole, Rhaena Trevelyan," he said, "He means you no harm."

Dorian snorted at that.

"That remains to be seen," the Tevinter said coldly.

Fiona was colder still.

"Tell that to the mages that the demon killed in the white spire," she said to the apostate, "He did not seem interested in helping them."

Solas sighed as he sat down next to Rhaena.

His expression was…weary.

"Cole did not understand what he was when he did those things," Solas said, "It is not unusual for a spirit to become confused when it enters into our world."

The elf shook his head.

"His presence here is as unique as it is remarkable. We should not blame him completely for mistakes he made in the past."

Rhaena blinked.

"That boy," she said, "He is a fade spirit?"

"Yes," Solas said.

"Did he come through one of the rifts?"

"No."

"Then how did he get here? Why does he look like a young man? Why…?"

Solas laughed lightly cutting her off.

Rhaena frowned.

"Did I say something amusing?"

"Not in the way you think," Solas chuckled, "Most would be panicking when they realized that a spirit was loose under their roof. Yet, you seem more curious than afraid. Why is that?"

Rhaena shrugged.

"He did not appear dangerous."

"Looks can be deceiving, lass," Blackwall said, "I saw that boy kill more than his share of Red Templars during the flight from Haven."

The warden frowned.

"He is not as harmless as you might think."

"Neither are you," Solas said, "Neither am I. We all can be dangerous when we choose to be."

He turned back to Rhaena.

"There are those here, Madame Vivienne and your brother Byron for example, that would see him locked up, run off, or killed, we should not forget that Cole came here to warn us of the Red Templars, and that he has done nothing against us since that arrival.

Solas sighed.

"Cole has his reasons for being here," the apostate said, "What those are, we do not know yet. Still, he has not tried to harm any of us, nor as he tried to lie to us. The Inquisitor is willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, so should we all."

Rhaena nodded.

If the Inquisitor was willing to trust the spirit, perhaps they should as well?

Solas laughed lightly.

"Of course, we may all forget that we saw Cole tonight, this whole argument may be made moot tomorrow."

Rhaena gave him an arched look.

"Is that possible?"

"Yes," Solas said, "I cannot say for sure. I seem to have no trouble remembering Cole, nor Ser Blackwall either, to others his presence is…slippery at best. It leads to an interesting question, would we forget him if he actively tried to make us forget? Even I cannot say, as I said early, Cole is…unique."

She considered his words. She tried to make sense of what she had heard. For the moment the boy's face was fresh in her mind. Yet, as Solas said, that could change if this…this…spirit boy wished it so, if he truly wished them to forget.

The thought made her shudder.

In a world were darkspawn Magisters and boys who had once been spirits roamed free, anything might be possible.

Such a thought was quite terrifying, but also…exciting.

She smiled slightly.

She would face this new world, as bravely as she could. She came here to find a world beyond her father's books and ledgers, beyond being a pawn to be given to his ailing partner.

She had come here to find adventure.

Perhaps here, in Skyhold, that adventure would begin.


	47. Recovery

**Chapter 47: Recovery**

" _Savages!"_

The dusky skinned mage wrinkled her nose with distaste as she tended Natalya Song's wounds. The bard held up her wrists for the mage's inspection. The purple, red, and green bruises were still there, despite Madame Vivienne's healing magic. The mage applied an elfroot salve to help fight off infection, and accelerate the healing process.

Natalya sighed.

"They were not interested in the humane treatment of a prisoner, Madame Defer," she murmured, fighting the urge to wince against the pain.

She turned her green eyes to the mage, a look of gratitude on her face.

"Thank you, Madame," she said, "For everything."

The mage sniffed delicately.

"Think nothing of it my dear," she said, "A mage's place is to serve, I know that better than most."

Madame Defer did smile slightly then.

"Of course," she said, "Service does not mean that we get nothing from it. Gratitude of one who has our new Inquisitor's ear can be reward, a great reward indeed."

Natalya smiled slyly.

It could indeed, she thought.

Mages were not the only one who understood the value of pleasing a powerful patron, bards did to, and bards did not forget those who aided them, or at least she didn't.

After the mage had left, she let out a tired sigh. The healers believed it best that she remain here for at least three more days. They wanted to make sure her strength had returned fully before sending her back out into the world again.

The thought did not sit well with Natalya; there was too much going on.

She wanted to be a part of it. Yet when she tried to rise for any length of time, a wave of dizziness nearly put her back on the floor.

She frowned.

She was not strong enough yet, well, she would be so enough.

For the second time she found herself in an Inquisition sick bed. Though she was grateful for her freedom and chance to return to her duties, she hated the fact that she had been left in such a weakened state again, especially with so much going on around her.

Events were moving quite fast now, she had heard enough from both Vivienne and Cassandra to know that that fact was true. Haven was gone, yes, but now the Inquisition had a new seat of power, a castle fitting what they were trying to do, and as news of the Elder One's attack grew, more and more people flocked to the Inquisition's banner, the Inquisitor's banner, her brother's banner.

Nicholai was now Inquisitor, as he should have been since the beginning. The power of the Inquisition was now his to wield. She should have been at his side/ S he should be even now at his side, helping him guide the Inquisition into new waters.

The thought made her smile, a smile that quickly died when she remembered where she was.

Times such as these were when true legacies were forged and fortunes were made.

Yet…she was stuck here, recovering from her ordeal.

It was most dissatisfying.

IOI

After her rescue from her captors, she had been taken to one of the Nightingale's many hidden safe houses. She would have preferred to be taken to her brother immediately, but she had been in no shape to demand being taken anywhere else. Her injuries had been quite severe, life threatening really. While Madame Vivienne tended her wounds, Cassandra's people had given her food and water. She had been so very near death when they had found her; it was amazing that she had managed to come back at all.

You must have had the Maker watching over you Cousin," Byron had said as they had made their way to safety, "Surely that is why you are still with us."

Natalya, had she been asked, would have disagreed, faith had nothing to do with it.

Hate and the desire for revenge can keep you alive just as well as any god's grace, and now she had hatred to spare, and a promise of vengeance to fulfill. That promise had been more than enough to keep her going.

The mages used spells to weaken her fever and used medicine and poultices to tend to her infected wounds. For the first few days she had only been able to keep down water and beef broth, despite the cries from her stomach for more. Slowly, as she healed, they stared bringing her meat, fruit, and bread, to help restore her strength.

"Eat what you can, and sleep when you are tired," one of Madame Vivienne's healers advised her, "It will take time to truly recover from all of this, but time is what you have now."

She had thanked the man and sent him away, both grateful and thankful for everyone who was working so hard to save her life.

She tried to remember their faces and their names. Later, when she was stronger, she would reward their work, remembering the debts one owed to friends was important as remembering those owed to enemies, both needed to be balanced in the end.

The thought made her smile.

She would enjoy claiming the debt owed her by her captors.

She would enjoy that day, immensely.

When they finally brought her hot water for a bath, she had almost kissed the servants. After days in darkness, a good cleansing soak did more for her spirit than even the food and medicine. The servants had remained the first time, to make sure in her weakness that she did not faint and drown. Once she was clean, they had helped her out of the tub, helped her change into a clean shift and helped her back into bed. Slowly, with rest, food and a bit of healing magic, her strength returned. She hated showing weakness to anyone, yet that could not be helped. She needed to endure, at least until she was strong enough to return to her brother's side.

Once that was done, there would be no doubt of her strength. When she reached this…Skyhold, she would remind everyone the strength of House Trevelyan.

As she recovered, she took the time to make new acquaintances, acquaintances she hoped that would one day become staunch allies. She knew of Madame Vivienne Defer before the Inquisition of course. The Imperial Enchantress had been making waves politically for years. They had met once before, several years ago, though Natalya doubted the woman remembered her. It had been at a spring Salon in Orlais. Natalya had been on the arm of some knight from Ostwick, Ser Roderick, Ser Rudolph, she could not really remember the name, and there had been so many sers since that night. She had been sixteen or seventeen at the time. The mage had impressed her, far more than the young man at her side had; that was for certain. Her escort had come to Orlais seeking aid against an ally of House Trevelyan, and had thought to seduce her, to cultivate her as a spy against her father, never realizing that she was more than a simple singer kept to entertain the Bann.

The knight had not returned from that trip, and her father had struck hard at the man's holdings making sure that none of his kin would be able to strike back after him.

In the end the mission had been successful, House Trevelyan had remained strong, and another potential enemy had been neutralized.

She also used this opportunity to speak more openly with Byron, to learn what had been happening during her absence. Her young cousin could not contain himself in telling her the tale of the Fall of Haven, the Red Templars, the Elder One, and the Archdemon that had fought at their side. He told her about the flight from Haven, the loss and subsequent return of the Herald, and his rise to the post of Inquisitor.

It was a most exciting tale; one that might have been rejected as mere fantasy had not so many people experienced what had happened.

Natalya drank up this knowledge. Finding out that there ultimate enemy was one of the betrayers, one of the original darkspawn was a bit disturbing, but after seeing the Breach, was it any surprise to find that the enemy was beyond anything that they had expected?

When the sky is torn open, and Andraste herself must choose a champion, it should not be surprising to find an enemy so far above mere swords and shields...

…An enemy that Nicholai must now defeat.

Natalya would have expected the soldiers of the Inquisition to be daunted, that was not the case. If her cousin and the few guards she had spoken to were any judge, they seemed eager to take up the challenge.

Their faith in the Inquisition had grown; they did not seem to care the Inquisitor was a mage. He had faced the monster in single combat and lived.

As far as the common soldiers were concerned that was all the proof they needed to continue the fight. The Maker stood with them that is what they thought.

It was enough to inspire the dourest of soldiers.

As she recovered, Cassandra was never from her side. Natalya had worried about that, at first. In her weakened state, she was no match for the Seeker. Had the woman decided that she would not recover from her wounds, the bard was in no condition to stop her.

She had awoken often in those early days, Cassandra sitting in a chair near her bed. The Seeker paid her no mind for the most part; she sat and read from a well-worn book.

The sight surprised Natalya, she had never figured the Seeker for the reading type; then again, she had been in the chantry since she was a girl. If the chantry offered anything besides faith, it offered a good education.

She had never met a Templar anywhere who had not been able to write and read as well as any highborn.

One day, as she had pretended to dose The Seeker had rose to tend to some business leaving her book behind. Natalya had risen and saw what it was that interested her rival so. She had expected some kind of chantry book, hymns perhaps, or a military history.

The Seeker had surprised her.

Swords and Shields: By Varric Tethras.

The bard giggled.

She had read Swords and Shields herself. Master Tethras was not the most skilled writer, but she had liked his descriptions of…shall we say…more intimate encounters. After reading one of his more…titillating chapters, she had gone straight to her beloved Oliver's apartment. She had ripped off her lover's clothes and took him like a lioness.

Had Oliver knew what had prompted their…revel, she might have suggested that she read more of Master Tethras' works. After that night, Oliver had certainly had no complaints.

She sat the book down and returned to bed before the Seeker even realize she was even awake, a hint of a smile on the bard's face.

She filed this information for later use.

On the surface, it did not seem like much, but looks could be deceiving. It was useful to know that there was a woman underneath the armor of the Right Hand of the Divine, that she was more than simply chantry dogma.

It made her rival less of a legend, and more human. Humans could be manipulated; you just needed to know the right levers to pull.

By itself, it was not much, but it was a start.

IOI

By the third day she was almost climbing the walls of her room. She held her bandaged wrist; the bruises were almost gone, as was her fever. She was still a bit more slender then she had been before her captivity, but that could not be helped.

Only food and time could fully restore her strength.

Cassandra had left by then, but not before sending a letter to Skyhold, informing her brother of her recovery.

Natalya frowned, still a little confused.

Had the situation been reversed, she would have done something to neutralize Cassandra, yet the Seeker had done nothing. Morally it might have been the right decision; politically…it had been a mistake.

That is why Cassandra would never have been a good inquisitor, she thought, her honor would have gotten in the way of doing what was right and necessary politically.

At sunset, she had asked Byron, the only member remaining of her rescue party in the safe house if they had found her armor and weapons when they had saved her. Surprisingly, they had.

The bard smiled as she dressed in her leather and mail. She checked her daggers, making sure that those chantry hens and their thugs had not done anything to them. They had not.

She twirled the daggers expertly and slid them into their sheaths.

When the time came, she would enjoy using those weapons on the fool priest that had made her so miserable during her captivity. She…

There was a knock at her door, Natalya tensed slightly, just because she was in a safe house did not mean that she had forgotten her training.

"Enter," she called out, she seemed relaxed, but her eyes never left the window, the light in the hall would serve to turn it into a mirror, she would see who it was without turning, that move had served her well over the years. It kept an enemy off balance for the merest second.

Yet, that second was all she needed, usually.

The door opened, the figure standing behind her was a familiar one, blonde haired, green eyed, and still wearing that dirty old enchanter's coat of his.

She smiled slightly.

Seriously, he was the Inquisitor now; he could at least dress the part.

"Hello Nat," her brother called out.

"How are you feeling?"

She did not respond with words.

She turned and ran to him, embracing him, for the briefest of moments she was not Natalya the bard, for the briefest of moments she was simply Natty Song again, the little sister that had embraced Nicholai before he had went to the circle years ago.

The little sister that loved her brother, that knew that she would miss him.

It was a moment of weakness, yet, this time, she tolerated it.

"I'm better now, brother," she murmured into the leather covering his shoulder.

"I'm much better now."


	48. Duty

**Chapter 48: Duty**

Nicholai would have preferred to see his still recovering sister safely back to Skyhold. He would have preferred to have accompanied Cassandra on what she had called…seeker business that was to take her away from him for a time. Yet, when Blackwall and Dorian met them on the road with an urgent plea for help from their forces in the Falo mire, Nicholai took up his sword again and began the march south.

He was understandably worried about Nat, she had suffered greatly, and not yet as strong as he would have preferred. If someone was to attack her again on the road, he feared that she would not have the strength to resist them. The men trusted to escort her back swore to him that they would die before any harm came to his sister again, and that he should consider himself free to do his duty.

Yet, that did little to kill the worry of a big brother.

He had thanked Cassandra for finding her, offering the Seeker any reward she might desire for her speed and loyal service. He knew how she and Nat felt about each other, the two would never be friends, yet the Seeker had brought her back to him anyway, he was extremely grateful. She asked only that she be released from her duties for a time to check up on matters that had once fallen under the Seeker's sphere of influence. Since taking up the leadership of the Templars, many matters that her order had attended to had been ignored.

Cassandra wished to see those matters tended to; People had put their faith in the Seekers once. She would not see that faith tarnished. Nicholai offered to accompany her, but she had refused.

"The Inquisition has need of you Herald," she had reminded him, "As the Seekers have need of me, if I require your aid. I will send word, until then, Maker watch over you."

She had ridden off then, leaving him to tend to the matter of the Falo mire alone.

It might have seemed inappropriate, but he worried about Cassandra, she could take care of herself, and had for years, he did not doubt that, but…but…

That worry remained, and it was more than the worry of a friend, or an Inquisitor for a good and loyal soldier.

It was a worry…that was more.

Nicholai cursed himself for being the fool that he was. He found himself thinking back to a conversation he had had with his father years ago, back when he had confessed his desire for a young Templar knight in the Ostwick Circle.

His father had chuckled good naturedly.

"Women do have a way of clouding the issue don't they boy?" he had said.

"I guess so," young Nicholai had replied morosely. Back then the weight of what had been expected of him as a Circle Mage had still felt very stifling.

His father had done his best to advise him through it. It had likely been the last time they had spoken with no hostility between them.

"Women can be a distraction at the best of times son, and a fatal weakness at the worst. I won't tell you to ignore you passions, but I will advise you to try to look beyond them, try and see the bigger picture. You would have made a great Bann, I do not doubt that, but that is never to be now. Still there is plenty of room to rise in the Circle, stay focused on that. To a lad like you girls will come and go, but your duty to yourself and your family endures. Be bold and seek your dreams, but always keep your eye on the big picture, and the rewards that they offer."

Nicholai had nodded.

"Modest in temper," he said, "Bold in deed, the Trevelyan family words."

"Just so, lad," his father had said, "Just so."

Nicholai had tried to remain true to that advice ever since.

He had been too shy to approach his Templar crush, and in time that passed. He had been with women since, lovely and brave. Yet he had never let them distract them from what he was trying to accomplish.

He…he had cared for Gillian. She had been his place of peace in the middle of the storm. Yet, when she had died, he had not fallen into a fury of rage and vengeance. He had kept his head when the Inquisition was formed and had focused on their goals. He desired to see Corypheus and his maggots punished for the Conclave, for what had happened to Gillian and the others, but he had not thrown off all reason.

He could not afford to do so now.

His sister and…whatever it was Cassandra was becoming, was a distraction, a distraction that needed to be put aside in the face of their war against the Elder One and his minions. There would be time to deal with that distraction, to…where Cassandra was concerned, scratch that particular itch, for now he needed to focus on his duty.

They had made him Inquisitor after all.

He needed to be the soddening Inquisitor.

IOI

The stench of decay rose up to meet them even before they entered Fisher's End.

Nicholai frowned as he glanced around the Inquisition camp. Harding and her people had done their best to set up a secure perimeter, but he could see more than a few easily exploitable weaknesses.

He found himself thinking back to a battle during the early days of the Mage Rebellion. The Templars had been pursuing them hard for several days. Kurtz had suggested falling back into a swampy region near the coast. Most of their allies had complained, but they had had little choice. The Templars, not wanting to give up their military advantage had done their best to surround the swamp and wait for the mages to come out where they could use their numbers and heavy horse.

The mages had responded to that by making the Templars' lives a misery. Kurtz had been familiar with the swamp and had used it to their advantage. The sell sword knew where it was safe to walk and how to find food, it had not been the most delicious fare, but it had kept them alive and fighting. Their pursuers had not been so lucky. Templar patrols were lost in quicksand pits. Their scouts and pickets were picked off by sell-sword archers. The mages had been able to hit the Templar camp and fade away with almost ghost-like proficiency. Little by little they had whittled down the Templar numbers. The enemies' pious anger and arrogance had worked against them, when the mages did finally emerge the fight had been more than even, it had been another victory for Nicholai and his followers, yet even it had not stopped the defeat they would find later in Tantervale.

As he looked around them little camp, he could not help but wonder if their situation had become reversed. Now he was the one leading a formal army against an enemy hiding in a swamp.

Considering what had happened to the Templars, he was not sure he liked their chances.

Thunder rumbled over the camp as a cold drizzle fell leaving everyone damp and miserable. Fisher's end was not so much a settlement, but the ruin of one. The few houses he saw were dark and looked empty. He noticed several extinguished bonfires, bonfires that looked like they contained several bodies.

The sight gave the Inquisitor pause.

"Signs of a plague," Dorian said behind him, "Say what you want about the city, at least there you can find a decent healer, what do they have in a place like this, twigs and berries?"

Nicholai hated to admit it, but the Tevinter did have a point. The Inquisition had mage healers travelling with them, but even that was not a perfect defense against sickness.

He rode into the camp, seeking out Lace Harding.

The dwarf had summoned them here.

He was eager to find out exactly why.

Varric came to his side. The dwarf had been quiet on their way here. Occasionally he had slipped away, or been seen talking with other dwarves in the settlements they had passed. Nicholai was aware of his spy network, though he had not realized that the dwarf had made so many friends already in Ferelden. Of course, that was one of Varric's gifts, he was a people person.

He approached the Inquisitor, a concerned look on his face.

"You okay boss?" he asked Nicholai.

The mage almost laughed.

Considering everything they had faced up to this point, _okay_ was not the word he would have used.

 _Unknown threats, plagues, an ancient darkspawn, legions of monsters who had once been Templars, and the women in his life driving him to distraction…_

No…okay was not the word he would use.

He could have said as much, but he decided against it, better to stay focused on business.

"Just getting myself centered, Varric," he lied with a wry smile, "I'm sure that whatever is going on here will be nothing compared to what we faced in Haven."

Varric smiled.

"That would be a little difficult," the dwarf agreed with a chuckle.

They both glanced over at their companions. Blackwall had been entrusted with the message that had brought them here. Dorian, perhaps fearing that the message might be a Venatori trap had come with him, hoping to kill some of his renegade country men or their Red Templar pets. Evelyn's presence might have been considered a bit odd, the knight enchanter did her duty, but she was not one to volunteer for every mission. Perhaps it was because her brother had gone with Cassandra, perhaps she had realized that Byron would be the first to volunteer to come with their Inquisitor, perhaps she was worried about him.

Evelyn did not make it easy to guess her motivations, the mage kept her own counsel, and unlike Varric she had never been open to making friends.

The thought gave the Inquisitor pause.

Speaking of friends, he thought.

"Any news on your friend," the Inquisitor asked Varric, "The one that can help us with Corypheus?"

Varric sighed.

"My contacts have put the word out. I would have preferred that she stayed out of all this, but given everything that happened in Haven well…"

The dwarf shook his head.

"My friend always tended to feel responsible for more than she should. She'll come, though we should still try to keep things quiet, no point in letting past events cloud what we're doing now."

Nicholai nodded.

He had taken notice of Varric's use of "her" and "she." The dwarf knew a lot of people; yet, he thought he knew just who it was that Varric was summoning.

If it was who he thought it was though, it might be very hard to keep the past in the past. Old grudges died hard with some people.

They would all just to try to stay focused on the job in hand.

As they entered the center of camp, Nicholai spotted Scout Harding speaking with her people, the dwarf turned and made her way towards him as he dismounted from his horse.

"Thank you for coming, Your Worship," she said with a bow.

"You know I can never refuse an invitation," he said dryly, "You find the loveliest places, Lace, and such a unique smell you have discovered. How could I have ever thought to turn away?"

The scout snorted with amusement, but quickly returned to business.

"A group of our soldiers have been captured by Avvar, barbarians from the mountains east of here. "

All joking ceased as he heard her report, there was a time for bravado, and a time for action.

The time to act had come.

"What are these barbarians doing in bog?" he asked.

"We're not exactly sure," the scout admitted, "Though it appears that their leader wished to draw you out. He wants to face you, because you are the Herald of Andraste."

"Do these people have something against Andraste?"

"The Avvar are a people of many gods, Inquisitor, they believe the sky has a god, and the trees and the forests, the Avvar leader feels slighted since most people believe that you have been sent by a god. Their leader wishes to challenge your god, to prove the strength of their faith. Facing you in combat is how he intends to do this."

Nicholai frowned.

"So we are dealing with a zealot?"

"So it would seem," Lace answered, "Personally, I think the man is just a boastful little prick who wants to go back home and bragged that he killed you."

"Well we can't have that," Nicholai said sarcastically, "Should I offer to autograph his ax before he tries to cut my head off?"

Harding snorted.

"They think that writing is for the weak, nobles, merchants, Orlesians, peasants, and the like."

"They sound like a fun people," Nicholai said dryly, "Any idea where they have taken our people?"

Harding shifted uncomfortably.

"There is an old Castle at the far end of the Falo mire," she said, "My scouts report seeing them clustering around there. There are also fade rifts in the swamp, and where there are fade rifts there are demons, and with the plague that swept through here…"

Nicholai did not need to hear the rest.

"Undead?" he asked.

Lace nodded.

"All the bodies the villagers didn't burn, the demons get in them, and…"

Nicholai nodded.

He could guess the rest.

Harding smiled gamely.

"You are not squeamish about undead are you?"

Nicholai snorted.

"They are not my favorite monsters," he admitted.

He kept his manner jovial, but inside his emotions were roiling.

Undead, he thought grimly.

He found himself thinking back to _Asch's Crossing_ , about what the mages there had done. The world had blamed that on him, and in some chantry circles, likely still did.

He wondered if this plague would be blamed on him, or on the Inquisition as a whole.

He could have let the matter go, left the Avvar to rot in this swamp, but no, he would not do that to people who had sworn their swords to him.

Loyalty and duty did deserve to be rewarded, even if that reward was simply pulling someone out of the fire.

He smiled gamely, burying his trepidations.

"So," he said, "Destroy the undead, seal the rifts, find the Avvar, and rescue our people?"

Harding nodded.

"That sounds about right, Your Worship," she said.

The Inquisitor grinned.

"Sounds like fun," he said.

Harding grinned.

That pleased the Inquisitor.

Harding almost sounded like she believed him, which was good.

He almost believed it himself.


	49. Trophy Hunt

**Chapter 49: Trophy Hunt**

The heavy maul came down, the power of the blow splintering the cobblestone floor of the crumbling fortress, sending up shards of stone.

Nicholai danced out of the way, twirling his staff defensively while at the same time trying to strike out with his sword. The Avvar, a giant of a man calling himself the Hand of Korth, raised his weapon again and thrust it at the Inquisitor, pushing him back.

Nicholai frowned.

This fight was not going as he had expected. He had thought that magic and good steel would be the difference maker but the barbarian was surprising him. The Avvar leader was huge, and strong to boot. He kept Nicholai on the defensive not giving him time to cast even the most basic of offensive spells. In fact, it was all the mage could do to keep up with him, much less avoid becoming a greasy red smear on the stone floor.

The remaining Avvar were so far staying out of their duel. They seemed content to let their master deal with the Herald of Andraste. The barbarian archers kept Nicholai's companions covered, making sure that none of them interfered or moved to free the hostages.

The Inquisitor's eyes narrowed.

He could not allow this to go on much longer.

He moved in again, and took a swing with his sword; the Avvar back pedaled and once again used his maul to force his opponent back. Nicholai found himself on the defensive, the heavy weapon came around and down. He managed to get clear, barely, but it was clear that standing toe to toe with the large barbarian was not going to work.

The Avvar snarled with frustration.

"Stand and fight coward," he roared.

 _Sure,_ Nicholai thought to himself, _I would just love for you to crush me into red paste with your weapon. Alas, that would leave the Inquisition without anyone to close the lingering rifts, so I fear I must respectfully decline._

He might have said those words aloud, but The Hand of Korth's temper got the better of him, and sent the large man into a wild fury. He swung his maul like a madman trying to make context with his opponent.

The Inquisitor realized that he did not have time for quips or sarcastic comments.

This fight was life or death.

It would take all his skills to survive it.

As he avoided yet another crushing blow, he found himself thinking of his cousin Evelyn. His biggest problem in this fight was that of reach. Evelyn would not have suffered from that problem, he had seen her weapon fool's bane shrink or extend whenever his cousin needed it to do so.

Such a weapon would have come in very handy here. In truth, a knight enchanter's training would have been very useful in any situation. Evelyn was a fully trained practitioner, and Vivienne had at least a limited knowledge of the art, he had asked them both about training him in the arts but both had been hesitant.

Knowing something and teaching it is not the same thing, darling," Vivienne informed him.

"Indeed," Evelyn had agreed, I know the art myself, but that is as much about instinct as it is about practice."

"What do you suggest?" he had asked them.

Both women had glanced at each other.

"The one who taught me the art still lives, at least I believe she still is," Evelyn informed him, "Given the dire nature of our situation, I think she might be tempted to take you as a student."

"An excellent idea, my dear," Vivienne grinned, "The Inquisitor gains access to new abilities and I will be able to further my own study of the art. I certain your old teacher won't mind."

The Ferelden mage frowned.

The lessons were difficult, I warn you both of that right now, but they made me the warrior I am today. Such skills would definitely serve as well in the battles to come."

Nicholai had agreed with her on that.

Hard did not scare him, he was not afraid of a little sweat on his brow.

He welcomed the chance and the challenge.

He could.

WHOA!

He managed to dodge yet another of the Hand of Korth's blows, it struck the wall behind them with such force that an old ruined rafter fell; both men were forced to dive out of the way, lest they be crushed beneath it.

Nicholai hoped that that might have been the end of the fight right there, that the Hand of Korth was dead beneath a pile of rubble or at the very least slowed down.

A quick glance behind him made him realize the foolishness of such a thought.

The barbarian was up again, charging again ready to resume his attack.

Nicholai regained his feet, and once again summoned a magic shield to protect him.

The two men's dance continued.

IOI

"Shouldn't we try and help?"

Evelyn rolled her eyes. Byron might have known about jousting and swordplay, yet he had yet to gain a good grasp of tactics.

By staying back and keeping the other Avvar off their cousin they were helping, if the leader of their enemy decided to let his allies kill the Inquisitor, it would fall to them to deal with anyone that might take a shot at their Herald.

She was about to say as much when Varric beat her to it.

"We are helping," the dwarf said, "Any one of those bastards try to stick a blade or a bolt in the boss, we put them down."

Evelyn smiled.

Master Tethras' argument was not as polished as the one she would have used, but it did get the point across.

Now they just had to wait, the missing Inquisition soldiers were still captives. This would not be over until they were free, and to do that, they would have to deal with these Avvar…permanently.

It was the only outcome that would give them all what they wanted.

After the rather tough slog through the swamp to get here, fighting demons and undead villagers, meeting their foes on the grounds of this old ruined fortress was a welcome circumstance. Despite having the advantage of size and being well rested before this duel, the so-called Hand of Korth was growing more frustrated by the moment. The Inquisitor continued to dance around him, not giving him a chance to land a killing blow. As the barbarian grew more and more frustrated it was only a matter of time before he made a mistake, and when that happened, cousin Nicholai would have him.

When that time came, the battle would be theirs.

IOI

Evelyn had to admit; when she had first joined the Inquisition she was not sure about her cousin. She had wondered if he had the ability to not only lead their forces, but also grasp what it was the Inquisition was trying to accomplish. Since the flight from haven, those doubts had all but fled.

She could finally see exactly why Nicholai Trevelyan had risen so far and so fast, and it was not simply his magic or good looks.

She found herself thinking of one of her earliest mentors, a mage born in Antiva City. He had come from a more rough and tumble background than most mages she had known, which led to him adopting a more…earthy vocabulary when trying to make his point. He had asked her once what it took for someone to rise through the ranks of the Circle. She cited the usual answers, skill in magic and advantageous connections.

Her mentor had merely laughed.

"Advancement child," he had told her, "takes intelligence and big balls."

The comment had made her laugh. She had still been more of a lady at that time; most men would never use the term "balls" in her presence.

Still she appreciated the man's candor.

It was nice to speak to someone who did not seek to hide behind pretty words.

"Does that mean that a young woman cannot advance in the Circle?" She had asked.

The old Antivan had chuckled.

"When I say 'big balls' child," he clarified, "I mean a sense of daring, a toughness and power that makes others sit up and take notice."

The man had snorted in amusement.

"Trust me," he had said, "There are women in this tower with more balls than some of the men, take my word for it."

She had smiled gamely, and simply nodded.

Her mentor had continued.

He had known many mages he had said. Some were very intelligent, but they were not brave enough to stand up and risk getting noticed by the Templars. Other mages were tough and powerful, but lacked the intelligence they needed to pick their battles and or stay under the Templars notice.

The man had smiled brightly then.

When you find a mage who is both intelligent, and has big balls, he or she will rise.

Evelyn had taken those words to heart. She had tried to be both strong and smart when it came to her dealings in the Circle, she had never been a rising star, but she had learned to recognize one when she saw it.

Nicholai was one of those stars.

Her old mentor would have liked him.

IOI

Again the Inquisitor dodged, and this time, the Hand of Korth flew into a rage. The man abandoned all attempts to protect himself from Nicholai's attack. He swung his maul wildly, attempting to end the fight that had taken far too long.

The Inquisitor evaded again, waiting for the right opening.

When it came he did not hesitate.

He struck with ruthless fury.

His blade caught the Avvar on the back of his legs, hobbling him. As the large man went down to his knees, he took yet another wild swing, again Nicholai danced around it, but this time he used a simple spell, setting off a series of popping flashing lights before the other man's eyes.

The Hand of Korth took one hand off his weapon to shield his eyes from the attack.

It was the exact moment that Nicholai had been waiting for.

He lunged in quickly, the blade of his staff, and his sword came in as one, two quick slashes were all it took. One slash came from the left, and the other from the right. The Avvar warrior had never known what hit him.

The blades found their mark.

The Hand of Korth's head left his shoulders and tumbled back bouncing off his ankles and rolling into a shadowed corner.

The body tipped over without a sound, the Avvar's defeat assured now with the death of their leader.

Alas his people did not seem to think so. Arrows and battle cries flew through the air.

The Inquisition forces rose to meet them.

What followed was a brief storm of carnage, without their leader, the remaining barbarians struck like hunting hounds, blindly trying to avenge him. For the Inquisition what followed was simplicity itself. They had fought harder foes than these warriors from the mountains.

The battle ended shortly after.

When it was over, Nicholai was left alone while Varric and Dorian tended to their now rescued allies. Most were uninjured, and those that were had suffered only minor wounds, sprains and bruises from when they had been taken.

As for the Inquisitor he was left to tend to his own injuries, He had taken an arrow in the shoulder, fortunately, the shaft had passed through clean, after he removed the shaft he applied an elfroot salve and drank a potion to counter the effects of several kinds of toxins, just in case the arrowhead had been coated with poison.

He had survived the fight. He had no intention of dying over something as foolish as a flesh wound inflicted by some no named barbarian archer.

Evelyn came up to him; her expression remained as guarded as always. She showed only minor concern as he tended to his wounds.

He gave her a wry smile.

"Looks like we won," he said dryly.

"So it seems," she said with a curt nod.

Nicholai shrugged. He had hoped for more…

…of course…he probably should not have.

His cousin was not the warmest woman he had ever met.

He glanced around the battlefield the Avvar had been killed to the last, everyone who had been here anyway. Of those that had made the journey only the shaman called Skywatcher remained. The man had not remained among his kin, instead he had gone out into the swamp, trying to study the fade rifts there, that is what he had been doing when he first encountered the Inquisition and had seen Nicholai seal the rift.

Skywatcher was now helping tend the Inquisition wounded; he could not go back to his people after he had not aided their leader in his trophy hunt. Nicholai not wishing to waste a possible valuable source of information on the Avvar tribes offered the man a place in their company. The shaman had said yes.

Nicholai smiled to himself.

He preferred to make new friends rather than new enemies.

Yet, any pleasure he felt at the big man's recruitment was bitter sweet. He glanced over to where his soldiers were burning the Avvar bodies.

Stupid, he thought to himself, stupid and wasteful when there are so many more enemies we should all be fighting against.

Evelyn glanced at where he was looking.

"You could not have spared them," she said.

He gave her an arched look.

"It isn't mind reading," she said, "merely a guess; we still have to defeat Corypheus. You think these people might have made good allies."

"They might have," the Inquisitor answered, "Had we given them a chance."

"No," Evelyn replied, "The Avvar respect strength, had you showed mercy here we would have Avvar tribesmen seeking to test our mettle every time we came close to their territory. They now know how far we are willing to go to accomplish our ends. Kill a few, to save the others."

Nicholai snorted.

What she said made sense, but that did not mean he had to like it…

No.

He did not have to like it at all.

"We need to head back to Skyhold," he said, "Hopefully; Leliana will have some news on where Corypheus might be hiding. We have real enemies that we should be fighting. I would rather we got back to them."

If his cousin disagreed or not she did not show it, she merely nodded and turned back to see what aid she could offer the others.

Nicholai frowned as the pyre that would consume the Avvar bodies burst into a roaring flame.

The Inquisitor sighed.

This war was far from over.

It was time to get back to it.


	50. A New Song

**Chapter 50: A New Song**

Skyhold was not simply a fortress. It was more than a simple base that the Inquisition could launch and flourish from. It was no mere seat that the Inquisitor could rest and dispatch justice from, oh no.

Natalya Song smiled.

Skyhold was a land of _opportunity._

She had recognized that fact the moment she had first stepped through the gates. Despite being in a slightly feverish state, or perhaps because of it, she immediately recognized this places potential. It when far beyond simply being a military outpost, the castle had become a symbol of the faith, of hope…

It was here that the future of Thedas would be written…

…and she intended to be a major part of that.

While she finished recovering from her ordeal, something that was taking far longer than she would have preferred. Natalya had had a lot of time on her hands. She had been forced to stay abed longer than she would have liked. Medicine and rest had finally broken the last traces of the fever and infection that had kept her so weak since her arrival. While she had recovered she had had many strange dreams. One in particular stood out, visions of a young man watching over her, at first she had thought it her beloved Oliver, yet when she finally managed to look into her guardian's face it was clear that it was not him. The blond haired boy with the sad eyes and large hat looked nothing like her beloved, yet she felt safe when he was near, safe and protected.

It had been nice to know that someone had been watching over her, even if it had been only a dream.

The boy never spoke to her; his presence had been enough, when she had finally been well enough to leave her bed, the dreams stopped. The loss had saddened her, but her mind turned quickly to other matters, like how to make the best of use of her latest opportunity.

Natalya got to work. She kept herself busy by getting to know her way around their new home. Even in its current state of disrepair, the castle was still a grand seat. Skyhold made Haven look like a hovel. It would take time to learn all that she needed to know about this place, but that was fine.

 _It would take time to reestablish herself among the Inquisition and their many guests._

The first of many steps in her plans were to rebuild her network of contacts among the Inquisition hierarchy. It was a network that had been in its infancy when she had left for Denerim. Sadly many of the contacts she had made perished when the Elder One's forces swept through the mountain village, and among those that had not, too many had been shifted to new position, positions that were not so…advantageous as she would have preferred. Still, she remained undaunted.

She preferred to see this as a new opportunity, rather than a setback.

The rise of Skyhold had done much for the Inquisition; no longer did Thedas look at them like they were a group of zealots hiding on a mountain side, or a gang of charlatans or false prophets. Their new castle was a symbol of power, and more than a few nobles were drawn here, to see just how much power the Inquisition now wielded.

Ambassador Montilyet was very busy, dealing with their noble guests. Sister Leliana had her agents seeking any weakness that they might exploit in to advance their cause among the nobles and merchants that were now flooding into the castle. Rebuilding their fighting force now occupied much of Commander Cullen's time, meaning that he would not be a problem as she began to move forward, and if he _did_ look her way, she was confident that Cousin Rhaena, who rumor said that the Commander had carried a bit of a torch for, would keep him nice and distracted while she sought out new allies among the many visitors and pilgrims.. Allies that would allow her to regain what she had lost when Haven fell. Seeker Pentaghast might have been a problem, but fortunately, the woman had not returned with Nicholai, she had asked him for time to deal with some Seeker of Truth matter, Natalya wished her well.

As long as the woman was gone, Nat would not have to spend all her time looking over her shoulder. The Seeker might have saved her life, but that did not make them friends.

No, she was only here because Nicholai had asked the Seeker to find her. Had Cassandra Pentaghast had her way, Natalya would likely have died in the care of her captors.

It is what Song would have done in her place. One did not remain the right hand of the Divine for almost twenty years by being foolish. The Seeker, no doubt, knew how to rid herself of her rivals.

She was just lucky that her brother had had other ideas.

Once again she was clean and clad in a fine gown, the soft green silk fit her figure like a second skin, such garments made mingling with the visiting elite so much easier. Most tended to be more open to her if they thought her a peer. She made her way to the main hall, the sounds of reconstruction echoed all around her, the sounds of hammer and winch. Masons and artisans from both Orlais and Ferelden had all come to aid in restoring the grand fortress to its former glory.

The sight of it alone was breath taking, knowing what this place had been and what it would become again.

Song shook her head.

Why had such a place been abandoned to begin with? True it was a bit off the main path, but strategically it was the perfect place to garrison a force that could move into either Ferelden or the Empire at a moment's notice. If Orlais had built it, surely they would have used it to keep a force to hold the Fereldans in check, and if the Fereldans had built it, surely such a place would have helped hold off any advance from the empire.

It was an interesting question, she thought, one that she might even try to answer later.

One of the guards nodded to her as she passed, Giles was his name, or was it Gilbert. They had spoken one night in the small tavern that was being set up in the courtyard. The creation of such a place here in Skyhold was an excellent idea, even the most hardened of fighting men needed diversions, and such places were perfect for listening to any tales or rumors that might prove useful to an enterprising soul.

Nicholai had only returned from the bogs in southern Ferelden last night, word of his victory over the barbarians spread like wildfire from the soldiers he had rescued. Everyone now wondered what the Inquisition was going to do next; with the breach sealed everyone seemed to have an opinion of what needed to be done first.

The loudest voices spoke of Orlais, the vicious civil war that had raged for over a year now continued with no signs of stopping. As the fight over the throne of the empire continued, more and more people were getting caught in the chaos. The Inquisition leadership realized that a stable and peaceful Orlais was necessary if victory was to be assured, and the empire would serve far better as an ally in the coming fight against the Venatori, right now it remained simply another problem to be solved.

The thought was troubling.

If the Venatori were able to destroy Orlais, there would be no power in Thedas to hold the Tevinter Imperium in check. Her brother worried about that, he had admitted as much during a recent meal they had shared. The Elder One and his servants were not the vanguard of a Tevinter Invasion, but that might change if the Magisters believed that the Empire was ripe for the picking.

Ambassador Montilyet and Sister Leliana both had their agents out looking for ways to end the fighting. The empress, it was said, was open to peace talks, now they just had to get the Grand Duke to agree.

Not an easy thing after so much blood had been spilled.

In the meantime, Natalya tried to get to know the people that made up her brother's inner circle, the collection of warriors, rogues, and mages that now followed him into battle. Solas and Varric were old acquaintances by now. Bringing Madame Vivienne and the Tevinter mage Dorian had been a wise choice on her brother's part. The warden Blackwall had proved to be a good investment, his skill and position as a warden brought much needed legitimacy to their cause. The elf Sera was trouble, but Nicholai seemed to think her worth it. Song had run across the friends of Red Jenny on past missions. None of the ones she had encountered had struck her as dependable, but so far the girl was earning her keep. She was certainly no friend of Natalya, when she had last been having tea with Lady Vivienne; the elf had swooped in, declaring the two of them the evil bitch club.

The court mage suggested that they ignore the elf, yet that did not mean that Song was not watching the trouble making archer.

If anything needed to happen to Sera, she would need to make sure that it looked like an accident.

The Iron Bull was yet another wild card thrown into the mix. The Bull's Chargers were well respected, but that did not mean that the Inquisition should simply forget who their leader truly was. If the Bull was to be believed, the Qunari were watching the Inquisition very closely. Whether that ended up being a hindrance or a boon was not decided yet.

The self-professed Qunari spy was useful, make no mistake, but at the same time he was **still** a Qunari spy. All they had was his word that he was not working against them, his word was enough for some, but Song preferred to err on the side of caution. Nothing could be more devastating then betrayal from within, a knife in the back, she knew that quite well…

…she had slid enough knives into people's backs to know how successful such a move could be.

She had passed along her concerns to cousin Rhaena, whose relationship with the Ambassador gave Song an in with the Inquisitor's war council. It was not enough to simply voice her concerns to her brother. He would listen to her, but hearing the same arguments from his advisors might be enough to sway Nicholai if they needed to.

She had thrown her lot in with the Inquisition.

She would do everything in her power to make sure that it did not fail.

IOI

That afternoon once again found her sipping tea with Lady Vivienne and Cousin Rhaena. The invitation had impressed the Trevelyan girl, Rhae was almost bouncing with excitement, honored to be included by the powerful mage. Nat chose to remain cautious. Madame Defer had survived the great game of Orlais; one did not do that without knowing how to work people to your advantage.

Nat respected that, but that did not mean that she was foolish enough to lower her guard.

"Whatever the Inquisitor's plans," the mage said sipping her tea, "I d o hope he realizes that it is in his best interest to support a leader more likely to leave us all in peace once the dust settles."

"Who would you support Madame?" Rhaena asked helping herself from a tray of pastries the mage had had brought out for them, "You have served in the court for so long, you must have a preference."

Vivienne smiled politely.

Rhaena's open question showed her…inexperience in dealing with political machinations. Song had spent enough time in court back in Ostwick to know that most nobles and courtiers did not like such blatant yes or no questions. They left too little chance to maneuver.

 _The girl will need some seasoning,_ Natalya thought; _if she is going to continue to rise in this Inquisition she will need to learn how to speak with the powerful._

Natalya would do her best to help her.

Vivienne showing her years of experience was not taken aback by the girl's question, she continued to smile politely.

"Celene has led us well, I will not deny that. The Grand Duke would likely seek to see Ferelden and Nevarra brought to heel if he takes the throne. The Circle would gain great prestige in helping him, but that does not mean that I support such an endeavor."

Rhaena's smile faded slightly, the girl considered herself Fereldan, born and bred, and the thought of Orlais subjugating her homeland was not something she wanted to hear.

"Celene has done well in the past," Natalya agreed, "Yet many of the problems she faces now are the result of her own choices. She has ruled well, but she has ignored her most basic of royal duties. Twenty years have passed, and still no royal husband or heirs."

Song shook her head.

"Is it any wonder so many nobles now turn to the grand duke? Enlightening the populace is good, but without looking to the succession, the Empress has invited chaos."

Few in Orlais would speak as openly as she just had. The Empress' decision not to wed and produce heirs had become a bigger and bigger issue as Celene had grown older. Rumor suggested that she had once sought to wed King Cailan of Ferelden, but that plan had ended with the man's death over ten years ago in Ostagar. Since then, his brother Alistair had wed his Nevarran born princess and produced both an heir and several spares. While Celene had none.

Was it any wonder the Orlesian nobles continued to grow uneasy. A daughter of the empress could have been wed to the Ferelden heir, making her a queen, thus tying the nations together. Had Celene produced a son, she could have approached Alistair about wedding one of his daughters to her son, making the girl an empress, and one day mother to a rejuvenated royal line. Gaspard and his allies would have complained about either match, but it would have drawn the more conservatives in the empire back into the Empress' camp. Such people were only looking for stability in the royal line.

Any such match would have offered that, yet Celene remained…childless.

Vivienne sighed and shook her head.

Song was most interested to see how the mage would respond.

She was not disappointed.

"You are not the only one who has voiced such concerns, my dear. She could have named a successor, but that would have set off even more fighting behind the scenes. Gaspard would have felted slighted if it had not been him, and Celene's enemies and allies would have done anything to gain her heir's ear."

The mage sighed heavily.

"The Empress has played the hand she has been dealt, and it is far from a winning one."

Despite herself, Natalya Song smiled.

Vivienne's words had been well chosen; she had not spoken in support of the empress, but at the same time not attacked her either. It was clear that, regardless of her feelings, that she was willing to support either side, so long as her own ambitions were forwarded.

 _Very clever_ , Song thought.

 _Spoken like a career courtier._

Talk turned to pleasantries then, as Vivienne did her best to probe and plant ideas into her guests' minds. Once again Song realized the need to pull her cousin aside and educate her on how best to answer the mage's suggestions.

"I've heard that we are expecting company," the mage said conversationally.

"That is not surprising," Natalya answered, "Many of note are being drawn to Skyhold."

"Ah, but my agents inform me that this invitation has been sent out by Varric Tethras himself, and I have heard that it involves finding a weakness in dealing with the leader of our enemies."

The mage smiled slyly.

"I don't suppose either of you have heard anything about that?"

Rhaena shook her head. Which was not surprising, Ambassador Montilyet was keeping her so busy lately it was unlikely that she had heard anything about Varric's "guest."

Song denied hearing anything as well, which was not a lie, but did her best to hold her own sly smile in check.

She had heard the same rumors that Lady Vivienne had. Considering Varric's past associations she could make a guess of who it was the dwarf had summoned. If it was who she suspected, Varric would have a lot of explaining to do, especially to Cassandra when she returned.

Her expression turned thoughtful.

If it was who she thought it was, then things might just be looking up for her and Nicholai. Several of the Bayart-Trevelyan's had sent word to Nicholai, offering advice or asking for aid, but that was it. She had still received no response from her father, or anyone else among the Ostwick Trevelyans.

Having one of her father's old allies, someone he was more than fond of might go a long way in repairing the distance that now existed between her and the family.

She still believed that the Inquisition was the future of their family. Nicholai had already sealed the breach. If Corypheus fell by his hand, the world itself would open up to them. Nicholai would rise higher than anyone else before.

She smiled.

And she would be right behind him.


	51. Brother and Sister

**Chapter 51: Brother and Sister**

"Maker…watch over us all!"

It was with those words that Mother Giselle ended her latest sermon. As one the Inquisition officers and noble guests rose from where they had been kneeling, at their head stood the Inquisitor who had introduced and then stepped back as the priest began the Morning Prayer.

Nicholai was far from a pious man. He had been raised a good Andrastian, but his years in the Circle had lessened his opinion of the faith as a whole. Even in a liberal Circle like the one in Ostwick, there had been both priests and Templars who believed that it was their duty to remind the mages that they were somehow more sinful because they had been born with magic, and those priests and Templars always seemed to gravitate towards positions of power and prestige among those that watched over the circle, despite what the mages in their charge said….

That fact had left Nicholai with a sense of bitterness, and never failed to raise his sense of disdain.

 _No man can help the way he is born_ , he had thought many times. _Why should I be punished because in the distant past, my noble ancestors had thought it politically wise to interbreed with the Tevinter conquerors that swept through the Free Marches? Any magic within the noble bloodlines of Thedas originated from that very source, despite the fact that most of the highborn tried to forget it._

It would have been very easy to turn away from any religious ceremony held at Skyhold, he could have said the business of the war kept him too busy to attend, yet that would never do, as Natalya had reminded him.

He was not just the Inquisitor but the Herald of Andraste; the faithful _expected_ him to be there. It was part of his duty to the Inquisition.

In this, he realized, his sister's reasoning was without flaw. It was his duty as leader of the Inquisition, which was after all a holy order, to do what was expected of him to please the faithful. They expected him to play the symbol, so that is what he did.

He rose from his place of honor. Natalya, who had been at his right hand, rose as well. He offered his sister his arm, and she took it with a nod of gratitude. Nat was dressed more conservatively this morning, a gown of dark red velvet with silver embroidery. Around her neck she wore a simple metal chain which bore the symbol of the Inquisition.

Nicholai had seen such chains before. A merchant, who had made his way here from Redcliffe, had been hawking the things to any and all members of the faithful who wished to show their devotion to the cause. The Inquisition had allowed such sales, provided that the merchant donate a small share of their profits to the holy order's coffers, an idea of Josephine's that he completely supported.

Anyone who wished to profit from the Inquisition's name needed to put at least some of their profits back into the order. It was only fair after all.

Natalya glanced up at him, a coy smile on her face, as she guided him over to where Mother Giselle was speaking with several initiates.

"You should thank the Mother for her kind words," she reminded him, "And welcome those sisters that have come to our side."

Nicholai nodded.

"Always the politician, eh, sister?" he said.

"It is simply the game, brother," she said with a slight shrug, "You will need to sharpen your skills as we move into Orlais."

She smiled and nodded to a passing man clad in the mask and clothing of a highborn of the empire.

"Those who serve on the Empress' court have much sharper teeth."

Nicholai snorted.

He had spent quite a bit of time with Madame Defer in the field.

He knew just how sharp the teeth those of the imperial court could be.

After addressing the mother and the rest of her priests, he led his sister back towards the great hall. He let his eyes drift over his fellows, trying to gage what may have been happening here in Skyhold while he had been off to war. Natalya had filled him in on a few details, but he liked to see such things for himself.

He noticed Varric interacting with several of the dwarven traders and masons that had been brought in to help with the restoration of Skyhold, he would ask his ally about that later, see if they had heard anything he might need to know. Several of the sisters looked at Dorian suspiciously, not surprising given the chantry's stance on Tevinter's chosen religion. The Andrastian faith of the south rejected everything about the Black Divine of the Tevinter chantry. Some of them likely suspected that Dorian was here to spread heresy.

He watched as Cousin Byron led Cousin Rhaena back to the main hall, though her gaze remained on Commander Cullen as he turned to speak with one of his officers, to call the look on the girl's face doe-eyed would be a grand understatement. Evelyn saw it too by her reaction. The older girl's eyes narrowed as she tried to catch up with her younger siblings.

Nicholai smiled in amusement.

He suspected that Evelyn would have much to say to her younger sister. The older girl had had a bad experience with Templar, or so he had heard.

She likely would not wish her little sister to follow down a similar path.

He leaned in closer to Nat, what he had to say was for her ears only. She tilted her head slightly so that she could hear him better.

"Is something going on between Commander Cullen and Cousin Rhaena?"

"Not that I am aware of," she replied, "Though it may be in our best interest that something does develop between them."

They paused to let a pair of nobles pass by, the both of them nodding and offering greetings. Nat did not continue speaking until the two were out of earshot.

"With Seeker Cassandra away, you could use another voice that is completely on your side on the war councils. Rhaena could deliver that, with a few kind words in the commander's ear."

Nicholai sighed.

As always, Nat was thinking about political advantages, and how to exploit them. The Inquisitor could play that game too, but was not overly fond of it. He preferred to speak plainly when he desired something, and trust in fact to deliver him what he wanted. Of course that tactic did not always bear fruit, his sister's way worked better sometimes.

The thought made Nicholai shake his head.

It was a shame that his mother had never taken with Nat. Lady Tatiana was an equality skilled political player, it had been many a time that his mother had helped smooth over some issue or that for House Trevelyan.

In many ways, Nat was the child that his mother had always wanted. She had always wanted a little girl, but had been given two boys instead. Nat could have been that child, yet the circumstances of her birth made his mother reject her from the very start.

It was a shame.

Nat had grown into the woman that his mother would have liked, or at the very least respected.

"Cousin Rhaena has many admirers," Nat said continuing their conversation, "We should try to encourage her to give ear only to the ones that advance the cause. Byron will likely help us with that. Evelyn might need a little convincing though, mage to mage."

She gave her brother a warm smile.

"I trust that you can help with that?"

"I will speak with her," he replied, though he doubted it would do any good. He could play the "I'm Inquisitor" card, but did not want it to go that far. He did not want to make this a direct order; he had no desire to alienate his prickly cousin.

She was good in battle. He did not want to lose her support.

They entered the hall that served as the Inquisition seat, the song of hammer, saw, and wench greeted them. The restoration of Skyhold continued, with the outer defenses all but completely restored, now the cosmetic needs of the castle were being tended to. Ambassador Montilyet had stressed during the last council meeting that it would not serve that their base of operations looked overly shabby. The Empire had finally taken note of the Inquisition. What was needed now, perhaps more than anything was a show of strength to the Orlesian nobles. Orlais had to see the benefit of Inquisition help, without it, the empire would likely continue its descent into chaos.

The Inquisitor glanced around the hall; it was here that he would also be expected to deliver judgement upon any captured Inquisition enemies. Nicholai had no desire to become an executioner, which Josephine had understood when they had spoken about it.

She suggested that justice did not have to be as base as a headsman's ax, in fact, if the application of justice was clever, some might come to see execution as a mercy.

He considered her words, though the thought of passing such judgement still disturbed him. He had seen the knight-commanders of the circle dispense enough such justice that he knew he would need to be very careful about it.

Nat seemed to be completely ignorant of his concern. She nodded in satisfaction at all the changes going on around them.

"A hall fit for greatness, brother," she murmured to him.

"Yes it is," he agreed.

 _Now I just have to live up to such a place,_ he thought.

He escorted her outside and down the great steps. Warriors drilled in the courtyard, while merchants haggled from hastily constructed stalls. They spotted Varric emerging from the newly opened tavern that had sprung up to meet the needs of the soldiers seeking diversions.

The dwarf smiled as he made his way up to them.

"Master Tethras," Nat said with a respectful nod.

"Varric," Nicholai added.

"Hey Boss," he said jovially, "Songbird."

He turned back to the tavern.

"It isn't the Hanged Man back in Kirkwall," he said with a touch of sadness, "but it will serve for now."

"Agreed," Nicholai said, "This place will serve nicely until the fighting is done."

His expression turned thoughtful.

"Maybe then, we can all return home."

Nat gave him an arched look.

"And where exactly is home for us brother?"

Nicholai's mouth opened and closed just as quickly.

He was about to say Ostwick, but part of him wondered if he would ever be welcome there again. The Circle had been his home, and that was now gone. Whatever came next would be different than what he thought of as home. Nat was in a similar boat, it was not like she could return to their father and pick up her old duties when the fighting was done, too much had happened, too much had changed.

He looked down at her.

"I guess that is something you and I are going to have to find out."

She nodded, accepting what he had said, for now.

Varric followed them as they made their way through the courtyard, acknowledging this person or that. The topic on almost everyone's lips was the Orlesian Empire.

When was the Inquisition going to make its first move?

The Inquisitor did his best to assure those who asked that everything was moving as expected. Both Leliana and Ambassador Montilyet were working their contacts, finding the best way in for the Inquisition. When that door was open they would have a better idea of how to aid the Orlesians against Corypheus' schemes.

Despite her political interests, Nicholai got the feeling that his sister was only half listening, she seemed distracted, and not her usual sharp self. She was clearly much recovered from her kidnapping and imprisonment, but that did not mean that she was fully recovered yet.

He asked her how she was feeling.

"Well enough," she responded, "some strange dreams, nothing you should concern yourself with."

"What kind of dreams?" he asked.

Natalya shrugged.

"It is nothing."

"I would still like to know."

She sighed.

"I get the feeling that someone has been coming to my room at night."

Varric chuckled.

"Already found a bit of companionship here, songbird?"

She gave him an icy look.

"I will have you know that I'm engaged master dwarf. I'm not the type of person to forget such a thing."

"Any idea who might be looking in on you?" her brother asked.

"It is not someone I know," she admitted, "Though I don't think these visits are hostile ones, if anything I've felt a sense of safety when he is around, like I'm being watched over, protected.

"He?" Varric inquired.

She sighed again.

"I remember a young man, common born by his dress, I have never gotten a good look at his face though; he keeps his head down, his features hidden by a wide brimmed hat. He…"

"Cole," Nicholai said flatly.

Varric rolled his eyes.

"Great." He murmured.

Natalya gave them both an arched look.

"You know this person."

"Yeah," Varric said shaking his head, "Though I don't know if person is the right word."

She looked at her brother.

"Care to share with me what this is about.

The Inquisitor sighed; he was not surprised that Nat had not heard about Cole. The spirit boy's presence was slippery with most of the people here in Skyhold.

He told all they knew about Cole and what he was. He was afraid that his sister might be angry when she learn the truth, at him most of all for allowing a fade spirit free run of the castle.

Nat's response was…not what he expected.

"So he is some kind of benevolent fade spirit?"

"Yes," Nicholai said.

"One with the power to make people forget his passing, or that he was even there in the first place?"

"Sounds about right," Varric agreed.

Natalya nodded thoughtfully.

"You were wise to allow such a being to stay brother," she said, "Such a…person could be most valuable to your work."

Nicholai gave her a wry smile.

"I'm not going to task him to be my assassin Nat," he said.

She frowned at him.

"Don't give me that look," he said, "I'm not going to risk having Cole go full demon on us. For the moment all he wants is to aid the sick and the wounded here. I don't want to jeopardize that."

She shook her head.

"It still seems like a waste."

Varric laughed.

"On the upside Songbird, you probably won't even remember we had this conversation, most people forget the kid is even here, even if they have known about him since the beginning."

"You seem to have no problem remembering him?" she reminded them both.

Nicholai nodded.

That was a very good point.

There were people in Skyhold that Cole's abilities did not work on as well as others. Ambassador Montilyet and Cousin Rhaena barely remembered him. Leliana seemed to have no problem knowing about him; neither did any of Nicholai's inner circle.

It was quite curious, no doubt there.

"I will speak with Cole," he promised his sister, "Ask him to leave you alone, maybe then you can get a good night's sleep."

"That is unnecessary brother," she said, "As you say, this Cole means us no harm, and I've certainly felt anything hostile in his…visits."

She shrugged.

"Leave the boy be, now that I know what I'm dealing with, I will be able to act accordingly."

Nicholai frowned.

He did not know what his sister meant by that.

Perhaps he did not wish to know.

"Inquisitor."

Her turned to see Leliana approaching. The spymaster's expression remained as guarded as ever, but in her hand she held a piece of parchment.

"Sister Leliana," he said releasing his sister's arm and turning to meet the former bard, Varric and Natalya took a step back.

"You have something for me?"

The red haired woman nodded.

"It is Cassandra," she said offering him the parchment...

Nicholai felt a brief frisson of concern, as he opened the note, his expression turning serious. Both Nat and Varric looked at him curiously.

"She needs our help," Leliana added.

Nicholai nodded grimly.

"So it seems," he said, heading off to find the stable master.

Leliana was right.

The Seeker needed their help.

He was off to see that she got it.


	52. Late night Visitor

**Chapter 52: Late night Visitor**

Natalya couldn't sleep.

She had spent most of the evening going over the letter that had arrived early that morning. Sister Leliana had brought it to her personally, that was how important what was contained within had been. Normally it would have gone straight into the hands of the Inquisitor, but with Nicholai away, helping Seeker Cassandra, it fell to the one that was…closest to the Inquisition's leader. It fell to her.

Though, to be perfectly honest, she was not sure what to do.

She rolled over trying to get comfortable, the silken sheets and feather pillows should have felt beyond luxurious after the months on the road and her time in captivity, yet it did nothing to still her mind, which had continued to go over what the letter that had arrived from Ostwick had said. When Sister Leliana had first came to her, she had hoped that it was a letter from her beloved Oliver, she had heard nothing from him in months, anything from her love would have been enough to put her mind at ease after everything that had happened.

Unfortunately, that was not what the letter was about. It had come from House Trevelyan, from the seat of their family's power. Yet not from the Bann, had her father sent the letter she would not have been so worried. She had sent several missives to him, and had hoped that he would have responded by now, either with a commendation of her and Nicholai's acts, or a condemnation of them both.

Bann Pieter continued to remain silent. She had no idea how he felt about his children and the Inquisition, and the letter did nothing to shed any light upon it.

No the letter was from Stefan, Nicholai's younger brother.

Apparently, he was on his way to Skyhold.

Song was not sure what to make of that. Had their father wished Stefan to be his eyes and ears on this visit he would have said as much in a letter, he would have written it himself? The fact that Stefan had written the letter, and was now coming alone…

Natalya had no idea what to make of that.

For the briefest of moments, she had felt like a little girl again. Back then a simple disapproving look from either her mother or the Bann had turned her knees to jelly. The thought of disappointing either of them had been unthinkable, and on some level still was.

She had never failed on a mission, **never.** The fact that the mission to kill Nicholai had turned out so different, part of her still felt ashamed, even though she had no reason to be.

The world needed Nicholai Trevelyan right now; it would have been wrong and foolish to have finished what she had started. Yet, her sense of pride still haunted her sometimes.

She had failed to carry out her father's orders. He would be disappointed.

The little girl inside Natalya Song's head cringed.

She was her father's agent…and she had failed.

Of course, any disappointment he felt might not have anything to do with Nicholai. It was possible that her father had discovered that she had reached out to Uncle Van and his children. The state of cold war that existed between the two brothers was not something she had been ignorant of, and she had gone ahead anyway. Byron, Rhaena, and Evelyn had proven themselves useful, but that did not mean that her father would forgive such a slight. He had spent years isolating his younger brother from their family, and Natalya had invited his children in to the Inquisition with barely a thought of how her father would react.

Perhaps that was why her father had fallen so silent, maybe that was the reason he was sending Stefan here.

 _What does it matter now?_ She thought to herself. _What was done was done. Nicholai was now Inquisitor and their cousins were all serving well throughout the new order._

Even if father was angry with her, or with Nicholai, what did it matter? History was on the move…

And with it the Inquisition, they were needed now, more than ever.

She frowned.

She knew all that to be true, but that still could not take away the sense that she had betrayed her father. She found herself wishing that Nicholai was here. She would have welcomed his counsel right now. Unfortunately, the Inquisitor was off helping Cassandra deal with her fellow Seekers. She had no idea when he would return.

If he even would return.

The thought made her shudder; she wrapped the fur blanket tighter around her.

If the Inquisitor did not return, she was not sure what she would do? It was not like she could just return home. She had bet everything she had on the side of the Inquisition.

There was no turning back.

She tried to push such thoughts away. Whatever future she had, was now tied up with the Inquisition. The war against the Venatori took precedence. Her association with her brother was the path to great prestige and power. She could use that to get everything she had ever wanted, if she was brave and skilled enough.

By refusing to kill, she had closed one door, but had opened so many more.

They had been friends once, she thought, Stefan and I. Back when we were children we had simply been two children living in the Trevelyan estate. We had played together, laughed together. It was not until later that Stefan had found out the truth about her birth, when he was old enough to understand such things.

Unlike Nicholai, Stefan had sided with his mother, and came to view her existence as a betrayal, he had never said such things openly, but any affection that remained between them cooled, and she had found herself distanced from her old playmate.

How would he react when he saw what their elder brother had built? Would he condemn them?

She could not say for sure.

As she lay there, she felt a slight tingling on the back of her neck, intuition some might have called it. Some might have ignored such a feeling, but Natalya Song was not one of them, that little feeling had saved her life on more than one occasion.

She frowned.

 _I'm no longer alone._

The room was dark, and probably more spacious than she deserved. Ambassador Montilyet had made sure that these rooms would be ready should any noble guests come to call. Nicholai had commanded that she be put up in one while she recovered. It was not as nice as his rooms, but it was still a far step above anything she had enjoyed before.

Guards patrolled the halls, she knew that. The thought of someone trying to harm her getting in seemed ridiculous, but that did not mean that it had not happened. She had made rivals in the Inquisition, people who would not shed any tears if she were harmed, still, would they go that far? Would they actively try to harm her here, under her brother's roof?

The only one powerful enough to attempt such a thing was Cassandra, but the Seeker's sense of honor would have balked at that. No, if she wanted to harm Song, she would have done so personally, she would not send others to do such dirty work.

Leliana might attempt such a coup, but as far as Natalya knew she had done nothing to anger the spymaster. Any games she had played during her time in Denerim had been for the good of the Inquisition, she did not believe that the spy master would seek her removal for such things as that.

She willed herself to remain calm.

She was being watched, someone was definitely in the room with her, but that did not mean that they were hostile, and they had to be skilled enough to get around the guards unnoticed.

That being the case, she could think of only one culprit, one who had… _visited_ her before.

She took a deep breath, and mustered her courage. She had a dagger underneath her pillow, but she did not think she would need it.

When she spoke it was loud enough that anyone in the room would hear her.

"Cole?"

She did not expect an answer. If it was this spirit boy that Nicholai had warned her about he would likely flee, or make her forget his presence.

"Yes."

The fact that he had chosen to speak up surprised her.

She sat up in bed and regarded her rather unusual guest.

He sat upon the writing desk in the corner of the room, idly swinging his legs back and forth. Such a childlike movement, it might have been meant to put her off guard, but she was not so easily fooled.

He appeared to be close to her age, twenty perhaps, maybe twenty three, his large wide brimmed hat hid most of his features, and what wasn't hidden was not visible because of a mop of dirty blond hair, the leathers he wore were dirty and patched together, what one might expect to find worn by a boy serving in some backwater's local militia. Of course, that was an illusion too, wasn't it?

Cole was not a young man at all. He was a spirit, or a demon, depending on who you asked.

Natalya should have been afraid, but she was not.

She was more…curious than anything else.

She put on her most winning smile, hoping that would put her mysterious visitor at ease, or at the least off guard.

"I do not believe that we have been formally introduced," she said warmly, "My name is Natalya Song."

"I know," he said, still not looking up at her, still not meeting her gaze.

Despite that, she felt a wave of self-consciousness wash over her. She pulled the fur blanket up around her, regretting in that moment that she had chosen to sleep in the nude. She had always enjoyed the feel of silk sheets on her bare skin, it was a luxury she had never passed up, still, it left her a little defenseless when an unexpected guest came to call.

Normally, she might have tried to turn that to her advantage. She knew the desires of young men, and was not above using her body to distract them.

She found herself wondering if Cole felt any such desires, or was he truly more spirit than young man, perhaps she was simply another mortal to him. Perhaps he was something so alien that he had nothing in common with her or anyone else.

She decided to push on anyway; it was her way to find advantages, in any meeting, that had been drilled into her since she was a small child.

It was not an idea so easily abandoned.

"This is not the first time you have visited me is it?"

He paused tilting his head slightly, listening perhaps; when he spoke his voice was soft, and as gentle as a summer breeze.

"You were hurting," he said, "I wanted to help."

Song considered that, so far that fit everything she had heard about Cole from others, those that could remember him anyway. Cousin Rhaena and Ambassador Montilyet certainly had a hard time remembering his presence at Skyhold. She had mentioned him to both of them and they both had responded by asking: Who?

Nicholai seemed to have no problem remembering him, or Varric, or Cassandra for that matter. She found herself wondering what it was that made them so different that her young cousin or the Ambassador?

It might have been something worth exploring later.

The two had lapsed into a silence, it was not comfortable, but it was far from menacing either, she could hear the tap of the boy's heels on the wooden table leg as he moved his feet back and forth.

Finally, she could take the silence no longer.

She needed to know what was going on.

"Is there something you want of me?" she asked.

Still he did not meet her gaze, but he did tilt his head slightly.

"I wanted to see," he said.

"See what?" she replied.

"I heard people talking about you. Some fear you, others think that you need to be watched closely, or sent far away from the Inquisition, far away from the Herald."

The boy shrugged.

"I wanted to see why they think you are so dangerous."

Natalya smiled slyly; she thought she saw an opening, perhaps a way to win this spirit to her side. His abilities were useful. If he was properly yoked he could be a great asset.

"I'm no more dangerous than anyone else here," she said, "Some people are just jealous of me. They seek to get between me and my brother."

Cole did not respond as she though he would. She had thought to send him against anyone who would speak ill of her, yet he did not rise to that bait.

Blades flashing," He murmured, "Parry, block, kick, just as mother taught me, just as she had done before. Each step was flawless, perfect; anyone could see that, anyone would know that."

Cole shook his head.

"Father watching from the balcony, he does not smile, he does not nod, no matter what I do. For him, I want to shout, all for him, if only he would smile my way, if only he would see."

It was only then that Cole looked up at her, those strange sad eyes looked into her own green ones, and seemed to pierce her very soul. That gaze left her more naked that she had ever been before. If felt like her soul had been laid bare.

She shuddered under that piercing gaze, any lie or story she might have told died on her lips.

Cole was looking at her, and in that moment she was afraid.

"You hurt people," he said flatly.

She stammered, trying to find a reply, her hand began to slip under her pillow, seeking the dagger hidden there.

"I never…"

"You hurt people, "he repeated, not a threat or an accusation, just a simple statement of fact.

She tried to look away, now she knew what a rabbit must feel like when caught under the gaze of a hawk. She wanted to look away but she couldn't.

The spirit's power was too strong.

"Yes," she admitted, "I hurt people, for my family and my father I hurt people."

Cole blinked; his expression suggested confusion rather than anger.

"Why?" he asked.

"It was my duty," she said with a shrug, "What was expected of me."

Part of her wondered why had told him that, that part of her; it was likely the blackest part of her soul. It raged against the spirit boy.

 _Did it think itself better than her?_

 _How dare it! She would be Queen of Nevarra one day._

 _How dare this…_ _ **creature**_ _judge her?_

"Why you," asked again, "why was it your duty rather than someone else? Why did you have to hurt? Why did you have to hurt others?"

Natalya frowned.

"I was my mother's daughter," she said, "It was her duty before me, and when she was gone, it became mine."

She sighed heavily.

"I became what my father needed me to be. He had lost my mother; it fell to me to continue her work, to prove myself worthy."

Cole bowed his head; he looked away from her, as if ashamed.

"You wanted to be real," he said, again a statement, not a question.

There were a dozen possible responses that Natalya could have given him, angry ones, mocking ones, even lies that could have tried to turn him to her advantage. She did not use them, not a one.

Instead she tried the truth, one word that was harder to say than any other, one single word.

"Yes."

He looked down at his hands, his feet swaying again. When he spoke she could barely hear him.

"I wanted to be real too," he said, "I thought I was a ghost. The people in the White Spire thought I was too. I killed some of them, to end the pain, to stop the hurt, and to make me more real."

He shook his head.

"That was wrong," he said, "I was wrong. I…I wanted to be real. I wanted to be real so bad."

The confession struck a strange cord in Natalya Song. What Cole was saying, it was not so hard to understand, not for her.

Not when she had spent so much time trying to be real too.

She looked at him, this strange young man that had watched over her, when no one else had.

Perhaps he is not so different after all, she thought to herself.

Perhaps we are more alike than we know.

"I want to be real too," she said.

He stopped swinging his legs and looked up at her, this time those sad eyes did not seem dangerous at all.

They were soft, looking for what? Forgiveness? Understanding?

She could not say for certain.

Forgiveness and understanding were hard to come by.

Especially from her.

They fell into a silence again, not uncomfortable, but…pregnant was possibilities.

Again, she spoke first.

"Will I forget about this?"

He looked up at her.

"Do you want to?"

She considered that. Maybe it was for the best that she forgot about this. The boy had opened up some old wounds. It might be for the best that she just forget, still…

"No," she said, "I don't want to forget."

Cole nodded.

"Alright," he said.

She gave him a sad look.

"Will you visit me again?"

Cole did not respond. There was a knocking at her door. Natalya heard one of the guards outside, asking if she was alright.

She turned to the desk but Cole was gone, he may have never been there to begin with.

She called out to the guard, everything was fine, she…she had had a bad dream.

The guard wished her good night and returned to his rounds.

Natalya Song leaned back, feeling more alone than she had ever felt before.

She closed her eyes, willing sleep to come.

"Will you come again," she murmured.

When the voice answered, it was barely a whisper, like a melody almost lost on the wind.

"Yes."

Natalya Song smiled.

"Good night, Cole," she murmured.

"Good night."


	53. Seeking

**Chapter 53: Seeking**

"The lower levels are secure cousin."

Nicholai nodded. Byron's report was welcome after the tense journey here. He had come here to aid Cassandra in finding out what had happened to her fellow Seekers.

So far…they had found more questions than answers.

The plan had been simple. Byron and a small detachment of Inquisition troops would approach the front gate under a flag of truth. Meanwhile, Cassandra, Nicholai, Varric, Sera, and Blackwall would infiltrate the Caer Oswin through a secret door Leliana's agents had discovered, but only if the front door meeting went bad. Byron was to sound a single blast of his war horn if it was clear that peaceful interaction with the Seekers was impossible.

The Inquisitor had hoped for the best, but was not surprised when the signal rang out. They had infiltrated the Seeker stronghold only to be attacked on sight. The battle had been short, but brutal.

Caer Oswin was not the type of place one would normally choose to hide a military force; its defenses were poorer than the ones that the Inquisition had fielded during their brief stay in the village of Haven. The castle was in poor repair. Bann Loren, who ruled from here, had lost his entire family during the early days of the Blight over ten years ago, and with it, any hope for the future, or so their agents had claimed. In the decade since, the place had fallen apart; its dark empty corridors more resembled a tomb than a functioning holdfast.

Bann Lorne was however said to be a pious man perhaps that was why Lord Seeker Lucius had decided to come here.

 _Maker knew; it was not for the place's value as a defensive fortress._

From her place at the Inquisitor's side, Cassandra regarded Byron Trevelyan; the former tourney knight had been bloodied during the skirmish with the castle's defenders. The top of his head was covered by a bandage, and a bit of red stained near his right ear.

"Have there been any casualties?" she asked.

"Wounded only," Byron replied, "No dead, and that is only because we were caught by surprise."

The boy frowned.

"Seekers are _supposed_ to be honorable, yet they attacked as we approached under a banner of truce, disgraceful."

Byron winced when he saw the hard look Cassandra was giving him; the boy bowed his head in submission.

"No offense meant, Seeker," he said quickly.

She continued to hold him with that commanding gaze of hers. Byron had come a long way since he had first joined the Inquisition. He was slowly learning the lessons of caution and humility, but that old arrogance still reared its head sometimes.

Under Cassandra's command, he might just live long enough to move past it.

"These are **not** Seekers," she informed him, "they are members of the Order of Fiery Promise, cultists and outlaws all."

"You can add piss-poor soldiers to that definition as well, Seeker," Byron said, "They might be wearing Seeker armor, but they fight like raw boned recruits or first year squires."

Nicholai gave her an arched look.

"Why would someone want to pretend to be a Seeker?" he asked, "Seems kind of dangerous in times such as these?"

She quickly explained to them the history between the Seekers of Truth and the Order of Fiery Promise. The Promisers, as she called them, believed themselves the true Seekers of Truth, and that the Seekers had stolen their power ages ago.

According to Cassandra the Promisers agenda was to bring about the end of the world through an inferno, that by destroying everything, a new world would rise from its ashes, a better world, a purer world that would be paradise for only the Maker's chosen.

Not the type of people that one would think that the Seekers would go to in looking for allies after what had happened during the mage rebellion.

Then again, Nicholai thought to himself, war did make strange bedfellows.

When the war against the mage's had begun, Seekers had often been seen directing the battle as the Circles had thrown off the yoke and rebelled against their former jailors. They had been the commanders and officers in the Templar army, and a dangerous enemy for any mage force that tried to stand against them. These men and women had been the true zealots of the Seekers, or at the very least the more ambitious ones, those eager to prove themselves worthy and ascend to the place of command left vacant when Lambert Van Reeves had been slain.

Lord Seeker Lambert had been the one that had taken the Templars away from the Chantry, it had been he that broke the accords and set the Templars on the path that had led them to fall under Corypheus' sway. Had he lived, he might have prevented it, or perhaps he would have been drawn into the Elder One's web as well.

It was hard to say now; all that could be said was that the Templars, or rather the Red Templars now served Corypheus.

Yet, the Seekers of Truth did not seem to be among them.

Have you found any prisoners?" he asked Byron."

Again the young man shook his head.

"Bodies only," he said, "They may have been the missing Seekers, only another of their order might be able to identify them. Some of them in pretty bad shape, signs of torture, whether it was for interrogation or amusement, I cannot say."

Cassandra's eyes narrowed. The thought of her fellows being tortured for amusement…

"The promisers will answer for this," she growled, "They will pay dearly."

"The remaining enemy has retreated to the higher levels," Byron said, "We're ready to pursue at your command, cousin."

Nicholai shook his head.

"No," he said, "Hold our positions here, no one leaves without my say-so. Casandra and I will lead a small force and deal with any remaining cultists."

The younger man bowed.

"As you say cousin."

"Good," Nicholai said with a grim nod, "One last thing, Byron."

"Yes?"

Nicholai gave him an icy frown, the one that his lord father had always worn when he was angry about something. The boy winced.

"When we are in the field, you should use my title, not "cousin." You have a bright future, but not because we are blood, we cannot let the other soldiers come to think otherwise."

Nicholai gave him a stern look.

"Is that clear?"

Byron swallowed hard and nodded.

"Yes cuz…I…I mean Inquisitor. I…I meant no disrespect."

"Nor did you show any," the Inquisitor said, "This was just a friendly reminder. Try to remember it."

"Yes…yes ser," Byron said again with a slight bow.

Nicholai nodded and dismissed him.

Cassandra gave him an admiring look.

"You applaud with one hand, yet discipline with another," she said, "Well done."

Nicholai shrugged.

"Byron's a good man, and a good soldier. He will likely become one of our best with a bit more experience under his belt."

Cassandra nodded.

"The man who trained me was named Byron. Hopefully young Trevelyan will prove just as worthy of the name."

Nicholai looked around; the shadows of this place bothered him, not to mention what was going on here.

It was the Inquisition's duty to deal with threats like the Promisers, mad cultists that offered greater threats if left unchecked.

Threats like these were what the Inquisition was made for.

He looked at his companions. Both Cassandra and Blackwall wore the grim expressions of seasoned soldiers. Varric moved his fingers over Bianca, adjusting something on the crossbow's stock. Sera grinned manically. She seemed more than eager for the chaos that was to come.

"Let's move out people." He said.

"We have work to do."

IOI

Level by level they cleared out the remaining promisers. Each broken down door and dark corridor brought more enemies under their blades, bows and staves.

The Inquisitor's fire spells dealt with his enemies, those that did not fall to Cassandra and Blackwall's blades. Nicholai felt it an appropriate fate for the promisers. They craved fire so badly…well, let them burn and see how it felt.

Sera giggled when she heard his reasoning. Normally Cassandra would have rolled her eyes, but not now.

The Seeker was on a mission of vengeance, and in the face of that, nothing else mattered.

Twice Varric had to shoot an enemy off the Seeker's back. So focused on dealing with what was in front of her, so lost in her rage, it was making Cassandra sloppy.

Nicholai pursed his lips.

He would have ordered her back, but did not see it as his place. Cassandra may not have followed the Seekers when they went to war with the mages, but that did not mean that she did not take their deaths personally.

The Inquisitor did not have a right to deny her her vengeance, and he wouldn't, but that did not mean he would let her get herself killed. He stayed at her side and dealt with any enemy that got too close.

He could not stop her, but that did not mean that he would not protect her.

As they cleansed the holdfast, they found several letters that explained the Promisers presence here. The most telling one found on the body of a Red Templar officer who had charged them in the upper courtyard. Varric and Sera left the man-creature so full of arrows and bolts that he might have well been a quiver. He fell dead at the feet of the Inquisitor, the pained cry of the Red Templars dying on his lips even as he died at Nicholai's feet.

The Inquisitor pulled out the letter, and showed it to Cassandra.

Her expression became grimmer with each line she read.

When she finished she threw down the letter, anger radiating off her in waves.

She turned to Nicholai.

"The Seekers were left in the Promisers' care," she spat, "They were immune to the effect of Red Lyrium, so…Corypheus left them here."

"They were of no use," Blackwall said, "Not surprising that this Elder One wanted them out of the way."

Nicholai nodded.

"This General Samson that the letter mentions," Nicholai said, "I've heard Cullen mention him before. Some lyrium addict from Kirkwall."

He shook his head.

"Not surprising such a man would find his way into the Elder One's service."

"Is Corypheus mad?!" Cassandra growled, "Does he not realize that the Promisers wish to end the world?"

"I doubt he would have let them live long enough to be any kind of threat to his plans," Nicholai said, "Once the Seekers were out of the way, he likely would have sent the Red Templar's here in force."

"Or he would simply have tipped the Inquisition off to this place," Blackwall offered.

Nicholai gave him an arched look.

"What do you mean warden?"

Blackwall shrugged.

"Why waste his own people? Some Venatori agent lets slip this place's location in the right ear, word of it gets back to the Nightingale. She tells us, we come here and deal with the Promisers. Our losses benefit the Venatori, and Corypheus gets to tie up a loose end."

Blackwall snorted.

"Efficient, if that is indeed what happened."

Nicholai shuddered.

Blackwall wasn't wrong. It was easy to think of Corypheus as simply a monster, some darkspawn, but if he was indeed one of the Magisters that invaded the golden city.

He was likely smarter than they gave him credit for.

The Inquisitor frowned.

Not a pleasant thought that.

Cassandra paced like a caged lioness, her anger continued to grow with each engagement.

"They could not have killed all of us," she said, "The Seekers were…are some of the greatest fighters in Thedas. They would not have fallen so easy. Lord Seeker Lucius, the senior knights, they would not have fallen so easily. I won't believe it. I refuse to believe it."

She gave the dead Red Templar a venomous look.

"They could not have killed all of us."

Nicholai sighed; he wished he had word of comfort to offer the Seeker. Sadly, he had none.

Sera, being Sera, had her own opinions on what was going on.

"Corphy-spit is a regular ass-biscuit," Sera said, "Only a total shite would work with people like this."

Nicholai shrugged.

The elf's words, though crude, were not wrong.

He turned to the last tower, off the upper courtyard, several torches blazed in the windows, and at the top of the structure. If there were any enemies left, that is likely where they would have fled. Perhaps they even had a few prisoners left there; Seekers that could give them real answers about what happened after Lord Seeker Lucius led the Templars out of Val Royeaux.

There was only one way to find out wasn't there.

Nicholai led the way.

Their work was not yet done.

These promisers wanted fire? Well he had fire for them, a cleansing fire.

He smiled grimly.

He would give them…an inferno.


	54. Hearts and Minds

**Chapter 54: Hearts and Minds**

"Smile sister," Evelyn said with that almost smile of hers, "It is not every day that one finds a chance for advancement."

Rhaena rolled her eyes. She could not really tell if she was being mocked, or if Evelyn was really proud of her, perhaps neither, or maybe both.

The girl sighed.

Whatever the mage thought, one thing was certain.

 _She was no longer a humble clerk in the service of the Inquisition._

She flexed her fingers, the burns on her hands had healed as best they could, but still she chose to hide the scars behind a pair of long silk gloves.

It was better that than seeing pitying looks on the faces of her friends and family. She did not want pity, she had done what was right.

Her wounds were proof of that, even if she did now want everyone gawking at them.

She sat at her desk while Evelyn leaned idly against the nearest wall. For the moment the mage had found herself between duties, so she had offered her aid in setting up her sister in her new surroundings. The office that Ambassador Montilyet had found for her was already filling up with what she needed to perform task. Both Lady Josephine and Sister Leliana had promised her whatever aid they could offer. Her desk already had a stack of reports waiting, not to mention the fact that the Nightingale had found her several books dealing with both the previous Inquisition and how the people at the time had seen them.

Useful material, Rhaena knew; especially if she was going to accomplish the goal the Inquisitor had set before her.

I will need to come up with something quickly, she realized. After the events at Caer Oswin and what had happened here in Skyhold this week, the Inquisition could use some good news.

Rhaena smoothed on the first report on her desk, this one having come from Sister Leliana's people, a report of a singer in entertaining the refugees in the hinterlands. The man had stayed during even the thickest of the fighting, and his presence had done much to keep the people calm while the Inquisition had fought to restore order. Corporal Vael had even praised him for doing what he could to take the refugees minds off the chaos around them, even for a little bit.

Rhaena smiled.

She would see if the soldiers knew what happened to him.

Perhaps he would welcome a trip to Skyhold.

Evelyn pulled a book off of the nearest shelf: _The Tones of Resistance_ : a collection of songs and hymns from the days of the Ferelden War.

The mage shook her head.

"It amazes me what people collect," she said, "Knowledge is power, I know that to be true, but some things seem almost too trivial to record in a book."

Rhaena shrugged.

"You can learn a lot about history from songs, sister," she replied, "Peoples hopes and dreams put down on paper, preserved for future generations."

Evelyn snorted as she put the book away.

"A sword has more value than in a book in war."

Again Rhaena shrugged.

Her sister was no stranger to war, but that did not mean she was right, not in this.

Steel won battles, but a song could win the heart.

That was why her new job was so important.

They needed to win both hearts and minds.

IOI

She had been standing behind Ambassador Montilyet during the last war council. Cousin Nicholai had only just returned with Seeker Cassandra, yet recent events meant that the Herald would not be able to rest quite yet.

Rhaena fidgeted. Her burned hands itched but she did her best to ignore that. she had no desire to distract her cousin.

Trouble had come to Skyhold, and it fell to the Herald of Andraste to deal with it.

"They call themselves the Orphans," Sister Leliana said with disdain, "And apparently Herald…they wish to see you dead."

The Herald gave her an arched look.

"More people wanting me dead? Hm, I suppose I should feel flattered."

Rhaena stifled a giggle, but if the others were amused, they did not show it.

Both Cassandra and Leliana glared at him, prompting her cousin to give them both a sheepish grin.

Though she did not blame her cousin, from what she had heard, there were many in Thedas who sought his downfall.

If her cousin did not make light of it, he likely would have been paralyzed with fear.

"Not funny?" he said to his counsellors, "Oh well, I never said I was an entertainer. So, back to business, are these…Orphans agents of Corypheus?"

"We do not think so," Cullen said, Rhaena was shocked by how bad their commander looked; he had bags under his eyes, and was sweating like he had spent a day walking through the hot desert.

The commander licked his lips.

"The orphans have only emerged since the destruction of Haven. What we have observed of them suggests no ties to the Venatori or the Red Templars."

"That you can see?" Nicholai added.

"Yes Herald," he added with a curt nod, "That we can see."

"My agents have been aware of the Orphans for a while now," Leliana said, "They are made up of mostly common people and former brothers and sisters in the chantry."

Leliana shook her head.

"They do have some warriors among them. Landless knights, sell swords, even a few fourth or fifth born sons and daughters of minor nobles, people with nothing but faith and anger, with even less to lose."

Nicholai crossed his arms as he regarded the map before him.

"Desperate people with nothing to lose, sounds troublesome, what are their politics?"

"The Orphan movement would claim not to have any," Josephine said, "They have been sighted in several villages and even in Denerim in the last few weeks, poor unwashed souls lamenting their fates, preaching to the poor, asking anyone who will listen to take up their cause. They say that the world has turned against them that the Maker, our father, has abandoned us and the Divine, our mother, is lost to us."

"That is why they call themselves Orphans?" the Herald asked.

"Yes," the Ambassador agreed.

"So…what exactly is their cause?"

"They preach the virtues of poverty and chastity," Leliana answered, "Though they also blame mages, dwarves, and elves for the world's troubles, elves most of all. According to the Orphans, the world will only return to peace when the faith is elevated above the highest lord, and the land is cleansed of magic and foreign influence."

"Meaning elves and dwarves," the Inquisitor said flatly.

"We fear so," Josephine said.

The Herald sighed.

"So, what have these orphans done to warrant _**our**_ attention? I might not like their message, but they have a right to preach."

"While you and Cassandra were gone, a group of twenty orphans showed up in the courtyard," Cullen informed him. "We thought them mere pilgrims at first, dressed in sack cloth robes, wielding only clubs and wood axes for protection. If not for the symbol of the empty bowl and sword they brand themselves with, we would have not recognized them for what they were."

Rhaena shuddered, she had seen the Orphans, dirty and wild eyed, they looked more like desperate animals than people, the angry looks they gave any highborn guest was enough to frighten off anyone.

One had shouted at her, pleading with her to give up her place of power, to take up the calling and join them in saving all of Thedas. The orphan showed her his brand. According to him, the empty bowl symbolized the grace of the Maker, and that the world would only know peace by surrendering to the truth faith, and that all brave souls needed to take up the sword and help them purge the taint that was spoiling the holy faith.

Just thinking about that man's wild eyes made her fingers itch.

"It has been our policy since coming to Skyhold to offer succor and protection to any loyal son or daughter of the Maker." Leliana said.

"As we should," Cassandra said grimly.

"The orphans abused our trust. They started harassing the dwarves and elves staying here. They tried to recruit our soldiers to their cause, offering them the Maker's grace if they joined…"

Cullen's eyes narrowed.

We caught one of them trying to sneak into your quarters Herald. One of the sell swords that was protecting the Orphans, apparently he was more than what he seemed, during his interrogation we discovered his Orphan brand, marking him as more than a common sell sword, that and several subtle poisons on his person, poisons that are almost undetectable in food or water."

Nicholai frowned.

"Did he confess to any wrong doing?"

"He said only that the faith had to free itself of the taint of magic. That we were being lied to, and that they had come to deliver our souls into the light."

The Herald frowned.

"They do know that I'm trying to help them, right? That I'm the Herald of Andraste and all that?"

"He said that your being here was a test, that only by rejecting you and Corypheus, by removing unclean magic from this holy place will the danger finally pass."

Nicholai cursed under his breath.

"What became of this man?" he said, "I would like to speak to him."

"He tried to escape the guards when he was being taken to the cells. He got a blade away from one, and ended up dead, but not before he wounded two Inquisition soldiers."

Rhaena suppressed a gasp.

She had heard that someone had been arrested, but she did not know about any attack.

"After that, I ordered our men to remove the Orphans from Skyhold," Cullen said, "They wailed and lamented our tyranny, and said that we had murdered one of their brothers, and that Andraste would call down a terrible vengeance upon us."

Cullen clenched his fingers.

"I should have arrested the whole lot of them."

"You had no proof the rest of them were involved with the attempt," Leliana reminded him.

The commander snorted.

"We're at war sister," he said, "We already have enough enemies. Show mercy to such people, they will think you weak."

"Execute twenty of them without reason, and we may have a hundred descend on Skyhold tomorrow." Cassandra said.

She turned to Cullen and Leliana.

"You did the right thing, both of you."

"Right or wrong, we still have a problem," Ambassador Josephine added, "Several of our guests have reported seeing more of these orphans in the Hinterland and Redcliffe. They preach tales of the Inquisition being corrupted by dark magic and greed."

"Let them talk?" Cullen spat dismissively.

"People are starting to _listen_ , commander," she informed him,

"According to my agents several knights have already joined up with the Orphans, add to that those who still believe that we are usurping the chantry's power, we could have a problem."

"Right now, the Orphans have no armor and only have basic weapons, clubs, axes, pitchforks, a few bows, and whatever steel the knights they recruit bring over," Cullen said.

"A hundred fanatics armed with clubs would be more than enough to overwhelm our patrols," Leliana said, "Venatori agents might even be able to trick them into weakening our holding for them. They may end up being used as pawns in Corypheus' games."

"So you think we need to deal with these Orphans?" Nicholai said.

"I would rather not have an enemy at our back as we begin our campaign in Orlais," Cullen said, "There is too much at stake."

"We need to find a way to counter the Orphans' rhetoric," Josephine said, "Right now it is all that is filling the small folks ears."

"We can't just arrest them?" Nicholai said, "It will make us look like the monsters they claim we are."

Rhaena, who had been standing quietly in the back, finally spoke, to herself more than anyone else.

"Perhaps he we should hire some minstrels to sing our praises," she murmured.

All discussion had stopped then, she had looked up from her parchment.

The entire war counsel was staring.

She blushed and withered under their gaze.

"Sorry," she murmured.

"What did you say?" the Inquisitor asked.

"Nothing," she said sheepishly.

"It was **not** nothing," Cassandra said, "Please, Lady Rhaena, repeat what you just said.

She swallowed hard.

"I said that we should perhaps hire some singers and storytellers. Fill them up with tales and songs about our brave Inquisition, tales of valor and piety, to…to counter the lies and venom being spread by these Orphans."

The Inquisitor and his counsellors all looked at each other and nodded. Even Cullen, who she blushed far too much around, nodded grimly.

"Our own propaganda," Cullen said, "It might do some good."

"My agents could find the right people," Leliana said, "People we could trust."

"It will be needed to be handled delicately," Josephine said, "I could do it myself, but many other matters need my attention right now"

"No reason to strain yourself ambassador" The Inquisitor said.

Then he smiled at Rhaena.

"It is not a bad idea, could work I suppose," he said, "In fact, I know the perfect lady to take charge of such a mission."

Rhaena winced under his regard.

She tried to think of something to say, perhaps a suggestion of someone better, yet only the smallest sound escaped her.

"Eep."

If the Inquisitor heard he said nothing.

He merely grinned at her.

Great she thought to herself.

No good deed goes unpunished.

IOI

There was a knock at her door, bringing Rhaena out of her musings. She had several minstrels and mummers lined up to come to Skyhold but it would take some time for them to arrive.

"Yes," she called out.

The door opened, and an elven servant entered.

"Seeker Pentaghast wishes to see you Milady," the girl said, "Alone."

A chill ran down Rhaena's spine.

Evelyn stood up straighter, she regard the servant suspiciously.

"Did the Seeker say why?"

"Only that she has some questions for Lady Rhaena, and that she must come at once."

Rhaena swallowed hard.

She could not guess what this was about; she was only now just starting to carry out Cousin Nicholai's orders.

If the Seeker disagreed…

Evelyn waited until the elf was gone before approaching her sister.

"You want me to go with you?" she asked.

Rhaena shook her head no.

"We're all on the same side right?" she said nervously, "What could happen?"

Evelyn's eyes narrowed, she did not respond, she did not need to.

Her younger sister swallowed hard.

She no doubt knew what could happen when a Seeker asked to speak with you alone.

Rhaena straightened her hair, and brushed off her gown.

If the Seeker wanted a word, she would have it.

They were both servants of the Inquisition after all, both doing the Maker's will.

She would do her best to remember that, no matter how intimidated she was.

She was a Trevelyan after all, a cousin of the Herald of Andraste.

She could do this…

…and she would.


	55. Helping

**Chapter 55: Helping**

"YOU CAN'T!"

The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. The Seeker glanced up from her reading to regard her guest. Below them the sound of the forge rang out. As an officer and member of the war council, Cassandra Pentaghast could have had private chambers in Skyhold, she could have insisted and no one would have batted an eye. Yet the Seeker chose simpler quarters, her room above the forge and armory was the type of quarters a mere army officer might have, not what one expected of the former Right Hand of the Divine.

Cassandra seemed more comfortable here than anywhere else, this place had become her sanctum, the one place she was not challenged…until that moment.

Rhaena Trevelyan clapped her gloved hands over her mouth. Her green eyes widened in fear.

Blessed Andraste, she thought.

What have I done?

This meeting was not what she had expected. Despite her new position, she had no real influence over the war council's decisions. It was her job to make the rest of Thedas see the value in those decisions, or would be once she had her office up and running fully.

Cassandra's decision to inform her of what was going on was a matter of courtesy, nothing more. No doubt she had thought Rhaena would support the choice without any resistance.

In this, Seeker Pentaghast had been wrong.

The Seeker regarded her with a cool stare, her eyes dissecting the young girl.

Her brow furrowed.

"I can't," she repeated, "What do you mean 'I can't',"

Rhaena held back the terrified squeak that threatened to escape her.

Fear would not save her she realized, she needed to speak calmly, and try to reason with Lady Pentaghast.

What she had just suggested…it was madness!

"I…Um…All I meant was that you…um…ah…that you should reconsider this decision." She managed, trying to keep the quaver out of her voice.

"It is not fair."

Cassandra snorted and shook her head.

"Life is rarely fair, Lady Trevelyan."

"True, but…"

Again the Seeker pinned her with that dissecting stare, Rhaena fell silent.

"I must admit, your reaction surprises me, Lady Trevelyan," she said shaking her head, "I would have thought you more than pleased to hear about your brother's good fortune."

"Normally, I would be, but not at the expense of someone who has served us so well and so loyally."

Rhaena pursed her lips.

"You can't replace Cullen with Byron," she proclaimed, "My brother is not yet ready."

As she spoke the words Rhaena knew that they were right and true. Cullen was there military commander; he had both the respect and love of the men.

Byron was too new; the army would recognize his rise for what it was.

Such a promotion would be a disaster.

"I have already discussed this matter with the Inquisitor," Cassandra added, "Cullen has asked to be replaced. Both His Worship and I feel that turning to someone with a vested interest in keeping the Inquisitor in power is the most logical choice for our new commander."

She tilted her head curiously.

"Do you not agree, Milady?"

"I agree yes," Rhaena said, "But if I may be so bold, my I ask why Commander Cullen has asked to be replaced?"

The Seeker frowned.

"It is a personal matter," she said.

Rhaena found herself remembering how the Commander had looked at the last council meeting, how pale and haggard. She had tried to stop him, see if there was anything she could do, but he had said that he had no time to speak, his duties required much of him.

This she knew, but still…still…

She wanted to help.

"Is there anything we can do to help, anyway that we might convince him to stay?"

"Cullen has served us well," Cassandra reminded her, "I would not seek to force the issue if his mind is made up, and besides."

The older woman smiled.

"I would have expected you to be more pleased. Politically it is a good move promoting your brother. Your family will prosper from such a rise will it not?"

Rhaena frowned, her green eyes flashed with anger.

She could not believe what she was hearing.

They were in the midst of a war unlike any Thedas had ever faced.

Now was not the time to be playing politics.

"Bugger politics!" she spat.

The Seeker's eyes narrowed.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me," the young girl heard, "Cullen **has** proven himself. He has proven himself to everyone! He has given everything to the Inquisition, to you. We owe it to him to provide whatever aid he needs."

Rhaena shook her head.

"Cullen believes in the Inquisition. The future that we are trying to build, if something is standing in the way of that future, we need to deal with it, together."

She felt her rage turning colder, she found it hard to imagine someone who had fought a flight of dragons in her youth would give up so easily now. It angered Rhaena.

It sickened her.

"We need to go to Cullen, convince him not to throw away everything he has gained. We need him. The Inquisition needs him. Surely someone who has given so much to our cause is not blind to that need."

Cassandra's eyes narrowed. The look on her face could likely have flayed someone.

Yet, Rhaena remained strong.

She would not be intimidated, not in this.

Cullen was worth the risk.

The Inquisition was worth it.

The two women regarded each other for a moment the silence pregnant with…tension.

Then…the Seeker spoke.

"I agree with you," She said, "Cullen must be preserved."

Rhaena was about to launch into a new argument to defend their commander when she realized what the other woman had said.

She blinked, unsure that she had heard what she had just heard.

"I…Um…what?" she said.

Cassandra smiled slightly.

"I agree with you," the older woman repeated, "Both the Inquisitor and I agree; we do need to aid Cullen, to help him through this dark time."

Rhaena gave her a curious look.

"But I thought you said that you wanted Byron to replace Cullen? You said the decision was made?"

"A deception on my part, Lady Trevelyan," the Seeker answered.

The girl blinked.

"Why?"

"I needed to see your reaction."

"Why?"

Cassandra sighed.

"We all have our parts to play," she said, "Cullen most of all."

She leaned back in her chair giving the young Trevelyan girl an appraising look.

"Both the Inquisitor and I believe that you can help us in keeping Cullen from making a serious mistake."

Rhaena suddenly felt self-conscience, she blushed.

"Me…what can I do?"

Cassandra Pentaghast explained to her then the facts about lyrium addiction among the Templars. How lyrium had been used by the chantry for years to ensure the loyalty of their soldiers, and what happened when the Templar stopped taking the stuff, the symptoms of withdrawal...

…Symptoms that Cullen was now dealing with.

Suddenly, everything that Rhaena had seen from their commander started to make sense.

The realization broke her heart.

The poor man, she thought.

Poor Cullen.

"If Cullen was to leave, he would likely slip deeper into withdrawal and despair, we cannot allow that," the Seeker said, "If he starts taking lyrium again, he may never be free of that leash, and in time, it will destroy his mind."

"What can we do?" Rhaena inquired.

"We can be there for him," Cassandra said, "The Inquisitor is aware of the situation, he intends to do what he can to keep the Commander focused on his duties, and offering an ear if he needs to speak. I will do the same, as a Seeker he will trust my judgment, and will not seek to disappoint me."

"And what of me?" Rhaena asked.

Cassandra once again gave her that appraising look.

"You will have the more difficult task I fear," she said, "I tested you today to make sure that you were not like your bastard cousin. Song would have jumped at the chance to put a family member higher in the Inquisition, regardless if he was ready or not."

Rhaena nodded.

Yes, she could see that. It was not condemnation of her cousin, merely an acceptance of fact.

"I needed to make sure that you were the right person for the task at hand," The Seeker said, "I needed to know that you would not take advantage of Cullen's weakness to advance your own agenda. It is as you say; we need Cullen right where he is. We can allow nothing to jeopardize that."

The girl nodded again.

"I understand," she said, "I would never hurt Cullen. I care about…h…about the Inquisition. We cannot lose him."

The Seeker nodded, if she picked up the near slip, she did not acknowledge it.

Rhaena was grateful.

Cullen was lucky to have a friend and ally like Seeker Pentaghast.

"What do you need me to do?" she asked the older woman.

Cassandra sighed.

"Duty is one thing," she said, "But it may not be enough to keep Cullen on his path. Something more…something worth fighting for, it can help as well."

She smiled slightly.

"I am not blind Lady Trevelyan. I have seen the looks that Cullen gives you, and that you give him in return. I believe that the Commander may seek you out when he needs more than…duty. You must not turn him away."

Now Rhaena did blush.

She knew what the Seeker was asking, but…

"Um…I…ah…will do what I can, but I am not even sure if Cull…if the Commander even looks at me in that way."

Cassandra chuckled.

"Despite his prowess in battle, Cullen is a bit of a…novice in certain matters. It will be your task to ease him into the place we need him to be, and if I may be so bold. I do not believe you would find such a task undesirable."

The girl's blush darkened.

"I can't deny a sense of…curiosity, Seeker. If he turns to me for aid, I…um…I will do what I can. For the Inquisition of course."

"Of course," the Seeker agreed.

Rhaena considered what she was hearing.

She had found her eyes drawn to Cullen since her arrival in Haven, perhaps more often than they should have been. She had thought Cullen might be interested as well, but she had not been certain that that interest was not simply an expression of lust.

She knew men desired her, she had seen it enough time on their faces. They desired her only for her…physical attributes, and she was smart enough to avoid those would-be suitors who would care nothing for her once they had had her.

Though he was almost ten years her senior, she did not find Cullen repulsive, quite the opposite in fact. He was handsome, brave, and if he smiled a bit more often, would likely have been a pleasure to spent time with.

If he comes to me, she thought, I will not turn him away.

Such a union would definitely be preferable to the old man that her father would have had her marry had she stayed at home.

She found her eyes drawn back to the Seeker again. Cassandra had said this had not simply been her idea, but the Inquisitor as well.

If both of their leaders were in agreement about this, how could she possibly say no, and besides…

..After spending only a little time around the commander, she had come to realize one thing.

He was definitely worth her time.

"Can we count on you?" Cassandra asked.

Rhaena Trevelyan smiled.

"Yes, Milady," she said with a slight curtsey.

"You can count on me."


	56. The Invitation

**Chapter 56: The Invitation**

" _To His Worship: Nicholai of House Trevelyan, Grand Inquisitor, Noble Stallion of Ostwick, Shield of Mages, Victor of Haven, Chosen of the Maker, Herald of Andraste, and Defender of the Faith."_

Nicholai nodded thoughtfully as the messenger finished listing all the accolades that his master had chosen to bestow upon his host.

"Maker that is a lot of title," he murmured dryly, just loud enough so that Josephine might hear him, "I feel heavier just having listened to them.

The ambassador coughed, raising her hand to hide the hint of a smile she now wore, that and to stifle a fit of giggles.

Nicholai smiled himself.

Josie was far too stuffy, she needed to let her hair down once and a while, it was nice to know that she could smile.

In a different world, he might have sought more than her simple amusement. It was not hard to imagine pursuing the Antivan beauty to become more than simply his ambassador. Had Cassandra utterly refused his affections, things might have developed quickly between him and Lady Montilyet.

Alas, that ship had sailed, and Nicholai knew where his heart lay now, on the harsh beauty standing to his right, listening closely as their Orlesian guest presented his message to both her Inquisitor, and the Inquisition as a whole.

" _My Lord sends his warmest regards,"_ the messenger continued, _"And asks the for the pleasure of the Inquisitor company, to be his guest as he attends the Empress Celene's masquerade ball at her Majesty's Winter Palace. My Lord appreciates the concern His Worship has shown Orlais in recent months, and invites him to attend, so that he may see all that is being done to restore both peace and stability to our great Empire."_

Nicholai smiled, yes, he was well aware of how the nobles were trying to restore peace to the empire, both Celene's and Gaspard's armies had turned much of the Dales into ruined battlefield, everyday Leliana's agents brought new reports of one travesty or another.

There were heroes on both sides, the Inquisitor realized, and villains as well.

" _My lord would welcome both your presence, and advice in bringing stability back to lands of Orlais, and his promise that the Empire shall ever remain a servant of the faith, and refuge for the Faithful."_

The messenger smiled.

" _From the Faith's most humble servant: Lord Gaspard De Chalons, Grand Duke of Orlais, Champion of the Empire, Defender of the provinces, Heir to the Throne, and Lion of Verchiel."_

Nicholai clapped politely as the messenger finished reading his lord's letter. A most interesting read, to be sure, one so important that the Inquisitor had made the man wait almost a day and a night before consenting to meet with him.

IOI

When the messenger had arrived early yesterday, he had summoned those he trusted most to advise him best when it came to noble matters. They spent much of the day in his apartment for a private meeting. Ambassador Montilyet was summoned for her years of service in Orlais. Madame Vivienne for her knowledge of the imperial court, and of course his Sister Natalya, whose work history in Orlais would prove useful in sniffing out any schemes that may be afoot from this meeting.

He would have asked Leliana to join in as well, but the Nightingale had been unavoidably disposed. Some matter on the road to Denerim had drawn her attention. She asked only to be appraised of what had happened later.

Nicholai regarded the three women, He informed them of the Grand Duke's messenger, and asked for their opinion on how best to proceed.

"You cannot ignore this brother," Nat said, "The Grand Duke is a powerful man, and must be answered."

"But not right away, my dear," Vivienne added, "Make this messenger wait, a day at least."

"Why?" Nicholai asked, "This is man is from the highest ranking Orlesian who has seen fit to open a dialogue with us, should we not show him the proper respect."

"Of course," Josephine added, "However you must establish your…dominance in this meeting Inquisitor."

Nicholai's brow furrowed.

"Establish my dominance?"

"Indeed Inquisitor," Vivienne concurred, "This man has entered your castle, has set foot in your domain. You hold the power here, not the Grand Duke."

Nat gave him a sly smile.

"This messenger is likely no stranger to the game, and he will report back on this to his master, brother. You must be seen as equally skilled, not merely some lowborn mage jumping to a noble's call."

Nicholai nodded, the trio's advice made sense. Father would likely not have approved, but Pieter Trevelyan was not the most subtle of men.

No, the herald would trust his advisors on this matter.

The messenger would wait.

"You should be pleased, brother," Nat said, "You are truly in the game now. From here alone you will have the best opportunity to save the Empire from the Venatori."

"Perhaps sis, perhaps," he said pacing before his advisors. All three women seemed relaxed, far more at ease than he had ever been in dealing with such matters. When he thought about what was at stake here, he found himself thinking of the dark future he had escaped during his dealings in Redcliffe castle. In that world, everything had fallen apart starting with the death of Empress Celene, her assassination at the hands of the Venatori.

It was this event that they needed to stop.

Thinking of the empress' fate in that dark future got him thinking about Celene herself. He was a bit surprised that she had done nothing to reach out to the Inquisition, even when their soldiers all but occupied the Grand Cathedral. So far the Inquisition had remained neutral in the Orlesian Civil War neither side wishing to make the first move to poke the bear so to speak, and attack the holy order.

Neither Gaspard nor Celene wished to make the Inquisition its enemy. Now this messenger from the Grand Duke, it could be seen that the Inquisitor was taking sides.

He had no desire to pick a fight with the Empress, not when her life was at stake.

He told his advisors as much, asking if he should consider sending the Grand Duke's messenger away if Gaspard had sent the man here trying to gain an alliance.

The three ladies' response surprised him once again.

"You cannot openly make an alliance with the Grand Duke at this time brother," Nat advised.

"Nor will the Grand Duke be so crass as to ask that of you," Vivienne added, "It is more likely that he merely seeks your presence. We have heard whispers of peace talks recently. Perhaps Gaspard will invite you to attend these talks as his guest. You would be wise not to refuse."

"Won't the empress see that as the Inquisition supporting her rival?" he asked.

"Some in her court will," Josephine agreed.

"Celene would be concerned true," Vivienne said, "But she would not pass up such an opportunity."

"And which opportunity would that be, Madame," the inquisitor asked.

Madame De Fer smirked.

"You said you were surprised that the Empress has not tried to contact us yet. Celene no doubt was trying to gauge your strength, to get an idea of the resolve, and the enemies that you face. Now that the Venatori and the Red Templars have revealed themselves, she has proof of both, but at the same time she must be careful. She cannot afford to show weakness in these troubling times."

"Indeed," Josephine nodded, "The empress could not simply approach us with an offer of alliance in hand, her allies and enemies both might think her too weak to defend herself, that she now needs the Inquisition's aid to defeat her enemies."

"Such a move would be suicide in the grand game," Nat agreed thoughtfully.

"Had Gaspard not approached us, she would have needed to contact us eventually, now that the Grand Duke has brought us into the matter on his behalf, Celene now has an opportunity."

Nicholai smiled slightly. He did not care for politics, but years as a noble and as mage in the Circle had taught him to play the game.

"Celene will spread word that it is Gaspard who is weak, and needs Inquisition support?"

"Yes," Nat said, "But…"

"But," Nicholai continued, "She will use any meeting between herself and Gaspard as an attempt to sway Inquisition favor from the Grand Duke to herself. Such a gambit would go a long way in not only showing her strength, but he skill in the game. She is willing to let the grand duke hand her the dagger that she will use to kill him with."

Vivienne nodded, and clapped her hands softly.

"Bravo, my dear, bravo," she said grinning.

"You understand the game better than you let on."

Nicholai nodded.

He did understand, that did not mean he liked it.

IOI

Nicholai smiled down from his humble chair upon the dais. He had come to refer to this place as Skyhold's main audience chamber. He refused to see it as a throne room. Too many years of hearing Magic is to serve, never to rule, had made him hesitant to sit upon a throne.

The chair from which he held court was simple, dark varnished wood with crimson cushions for both the seat and back, yet well cushioned enough that his bum did not go numb during long sessions. One of the artisans that were restoring Skyhold had offered to make him a proper Marcher-throne, but he had refused.

"A throne would help show off your grandeur brother," Nat had advised, but in this he did not relent.

"When Skyhold is restored, none will doubt my grandeur," he informed her, "They will be intimidated enough when they stand before the dais. Let them see me sitting on simple chair of wood and cushion, so that they may know that I'm as much a servant as I am defender."

Speaking of Grandeur, the workmen had all but finished restoring the audience chamber to its former glory. A few scaffolds remained, but was merely to finish up some cosmetic work. The audience chamber was more than up to the task of impressing any visitor that entered this hall.

"The Grand Duke's offer is most welcomed," he informed the messenger, "And well timed. As the Inquisition concludes its business in Ferelden, we find ourselves looking for new allies to the east."

He smiled broadly.

"Perhaps your grand duke will serve that purpose nicely."

"My lord has always been a fervent ally of the faith, Inquisitor," the man said, "He holds it as sacred as the chevalier code that he lives by."

"Followers of the code have always been welcome allies," Nicholai said dryly, only barely managing to keep any sarcasm from his voice.

He had met knights of the code during the rebellion. He knew several of the loop holes that noble knights could exploit when they wished to indulge in a little rape or plunder.

In fact, most of the knights he had met over the years considered the code more of a guideline than actual rules of conduct, and guidelines could be cast aside when victory was more important than morals.

He did not say this openly of course.

He still needed the Grand Duke's aid, after all.

He looked out over his court, some he knew quite well, others have simply been drawn to his cause. Cullen, Blackwall, Madame Vivienne, they were all known commodities as he moved the Inquisition forward. Most of his allies had agendas of their own, and what he did next would affect whatever plans they were advancing in their own roles inside the Inquisition.

Next he sought out his family, they had the most to lose she things come unstuck. Evelyn stayed close to her fellow mages, advising him of what was going on behind closed doors inside the former mage rebellion. Most of the former First Enchanters accepted his role as Inquisitor, and had pledged to do their part in the days ahead; of course there were always a few dissenters.

That is what Evelyn was keeping an eye on for him.

Nat was happier than a pig in mud, he thought to himself. Song had always delighted in intrigue and power games, and neither was in short supply this close to Orlais. His sister kept her ears open for any plots that might harm either him or the power base he was building.

So far, she was pleased with the results.

Byron had become an accepted member of the Inquisition military. It had taken him sometime but he had finally out grown the arrogance that had caused him so much trouble in the beginning. In time he would likely grow into a position of command, but that would depend as much on him as it did on Ser Cullen, when the Commander thought the young man was ready.

Speaking of Cullen, Nicholai noticed that Cousin Rhaena was no longer sticking so closely to the side of Ambassador Montilyet, in fact today she was only a few steps away from Cullen, a position that the former Templar not only had noticed, but seemed…pleased with. Cassandra had promised him to speak with her, bring her in on their plans to ensure that Cullen remained right where they needed him. The Seeker had reported success in this endeavor, and it seemed that Rhaena was doing her best to hold up her end.

The Inquisitor was pleased.

Cullen's experience was not something he wished to lose. If Rhaena getting to know him a bit better helped keep him on track, he was willing to support the girl in whatever capacity she needed.

This of course led him to the Seeker herself, Cassandra Pentaghast, the Hero of Orlais, and former Right Hand of the Divine.

She understood the game as well as he did, and felt as much disdain as he did in such dealings.

For that reason and many others, he had known long ago that he was openly seeking her favor.

Recently, they had talked in private, about the flirty comments that he had directed at her. She finally broached the subject that he might think more of her than simply a fellow warrior and advisor, and he had admitted as much to her.

Cassandra had smiled then, and admitted that he was not alone in these feelings, but at the same time, she was no starry eyed peasant girl who would fall at his feet after a few kind words.

No, Cass expected more of him, a bit of romantic frivolity that would prove his willingness to pursue…whatever it was between them.

He had accepted her challenge, intent on finding what was needed to prove that he was not simply seeking out some meaningless tryst.

The Hero of Orlais had issued a challenge, and it was one he was determined to meet.

That challenge, unfortunately, would need to be met later, for now he needed to perform his duty, but later…

…Later he would be free to find what she desired of him.

"As Inquisitor," he informed the messenger, "I humbly accept your master's invitation, and will join him for these talks at the Winter Palace."

The messenger beamed.

"That is excellent news Inquisitor," the man said, "The Grand Duke had hoped that you would be so good to accept. In fact he even sent you a gift, something that certain members of your house may desire."

Nicholai gave the man an arched look.

 _What was this now_ , he wondered.

The messenger snapped his fingers; two guards entered dragging a struggling figure in chains, a woman with a burlap sack over her head.

The messenger smiled broadly.

"This woman was captured trying to flee to Val Royeaux, or so she claimed. We thought she might be one of the empress' spies at first. Ferelden by birth, she was captured by my lords men outside of Verchiel. She confessed during interrogation to the murder of several inquisition soldiers, and the kidnapping of one of your agents, your holy sister I believe.

Nicholai frowned and looked at Nat, her green eyes had widened a hunger shown there, a dark and devious hunger.

The messenger removed the sack, revealing a woman glaring defiantly at any who would look.

She glared up at Nicholai; if looks could kill he would have been a pile of ash at that moment.

It was then that the woman noticed Natalya, who had finally stepped away from the rest of his courtiers.

His sister was smiling, the hungry smile of a shark or a demon…

…A predator that had finally found its prey.

She stood before the prisoner, sizing her up, perhaps.

"Do you recognize this woman sister," he asked.

Nat did not bother to turn, she held the other woman's gaze, all manner of cruelties passed between the two in that moment.

"I know her," Natalya Song said, "I was her….guest for several weeks. She tortured me."

Nat grinned and gently, chastely kissed the prisoner on both cheeks.

"Hello again Sister," she said her voice dripping with both sweetness and malice.

"We meet…again."


	57. The Ladies in my Life

**A/N: Been a while since I wrote for this one, so I suppose it is time. Speaking of writings, I recently started a Star Wars Fan fiction on this site that I'm eager to get reviews for, if any of you would like to read it, my first real stab at a villain, who may or may not be a villain, depending on how you look at her. I would appreciate any opinion on the matter. Anyway, back to the Inquisitor and his family.**

 **Chapter 57: The Ladies in my Life**

"You look like shit, boss."

Nicholai Trevelyan chuckled.

"Why thank you, old friend," The inquisitor replied with a cheery smile.

"I do try."

The old sellsword chuckled, taking a deep swig from the tankard before him. It had been quite late when the man had returned to Skyhold He had ridden all day, and into the early evening. Most men would have fallen into bed after such a hard ride, but not Kurtz.

Despite the ravages of war and time, the old bastard remained as wild as ever, and, given his exploits, he was likely tougher than half the soldiers that now marched under the inquisition's banner.

If that did not make the man worthy of respect, Nicholai did not know what did. As for the man's harsh tongue, well…

The mage snorted with amusement.

He could certainly not dispute Kurtz's opinion, especially considering recent events. Sleep had not come easy for him this eve, too many things on his mind. As the war against Corypheus and the Venatori continued, he found his attention being pulled several directions at once.

It was of little wonder that he had not been able to find a decent night's rest.

Kurtz set down his tankard, and met his employer's gaze. Unlike others here in Skyhold, the Inquisitor did not doubt that whatever past between him and the mercenary would not be tempered by a sense of religious fervor. Far too few in the fortress could be trusted to give their inquisitor an honest account of how they thought the war was going. Sera could, if you could make sense of the little elf's yammering. Solas could, but that was because he had been with Nicholai since the beginning. The elven apostate had his own way of doing things, a way that the Inquisitor respected. Beyond that, too few here wanted to risk the ire of the Herald of Andraste. That was alright Nicholai supposed, but it did little more than fan his ego, and that was not something he needed right now.

They were on the verge of beginning operations in Orlais after all.

He could use all the honest opinions he could get.

When sleep had proved impossible, the Inquisitor had made his way down to the audience chamber, he had found Kurtz sitting in Varric's old chair by the large hearth in the far left corner. The dwarf was likely in bed by now, so the old mercenary was making use of his seat. At the time, the Kurtz had been trying to solve one of the dwarven puzzle boxes that the inquisition had been distributing to its soldiers. From the look in the older man's eyes, and the frustration on his face, it was clear that he had had little luck in solving the thing.

"Need a hand there," Nicholai had offered.

The sell sword had snorted at that.

"A hand, no," he said grimly, "A hammer would be a big help though."

Kurtz glared at the dwarven device.

"A few good whacks…that will open the bitch."

Nicholai laughed at that.

 _That was one way to solve the puzzle,_ he supposed.

After a brief welcome back, Nicholai decided to bring Kurtz up to speed with everything that had happened recently. From the Grand Duke's invitation, Nat's…excitement over their new prisoner, to Cassandra's…courtship requests. He was eager to get the man's opinion on the first and the second, the third was well…

It was awkward, sure, but he felt far better speaking with Kurtz on the matter than anyone else here in Skyhold. Say what you wanted about the old Sell Sword, he could be discreet when he wanted to be, and that was what the Inquisitor needed now, discretion.

What passed between him and Kurtz would stay private. That is what had made the man so good at his job for so long. His sense of discretion…

Nicholai could use that right, that, and the man's honesty.

No matter how blunt it was.

Kurtz leaned back in his chair staring down into the dregs of his mug. The old man's expression remained thoughtful, as he considered what it was he had heard.

Nicholai waited, hoping for an answer, then he waited some more.

Finally he lost his patience.

"Well," he asked.

"Well what," Kurtz asked.

The Inquisitor's eyes narrowed.

"What do you think?"

The sell sword shrugged.

"To be perfectly honest lad, I think you need to get laid.'

The older man smirked.

"It would not solve your problems, but at least you would have something else to think about beside all the bullshit."

The Inquisitor frowned.

That was the problem wasn't it. The bullshit as Kurtz had called it. So much was riding on him now; so much was depending on him.

He could have used…a release, something to get his mind off things.

Of course, given the Cassandra's nature, and the nature of her demands...he doubted that he would have the chance to "get laid" anytime soon. He could have sought out some other willing girl, but he doubted that Cassandra would take too kindly to that.

He liked his head exactly where it was. Inquisitor or no, he knew the Seeker's temper.

He did not want to risk it.

"The Cassandra thing will have to wait," he said.

"Suit yourself, boss," Kurtz replied, "Though I still think you could do with finding…some release, even if it isn't our armored little blossom of a Seeker."

Nicholai frowned. Once he might have taken Kurtz advice to heart, sought out another alternative. Of course, that was before he had met Cassandra.

He knew how amazing she was.

He did not want anyone else.

She is worth the work, he thought, He had no intention of blowing that on some mindless one night's stand.

"What about Nat," he asked the other man, "You have any advice for me on that little problem."

"She is your little sis, lad," Kurtz replied, "You don't think she would listen if you told her to stand down?"

"She might have… _once_ ," Nicholai admitted, "She deserves justice, I don't doubt that, but what she wants to do, what she would do if I untired her hands."

The Inquisitor shook his head.

"I never agreed with my father on Nat," He admitted, "I never wanted her to take up her mother's role as our family…agent, assassin, or whatever else you might call it. When she came to the Inquisition, when she offered us her services, I thought I could free her from that, everything that our father had her do, give her a chance to have a better life, one that did not revolve around killing and death."

He sighed.

"You should have seen her Kurtz; she was practically salivating at the idea of getting her hands on that woman. I know she was tortured by her, and I know that Nat deserves justice, but seeing the look in her eyes. If I had not ordered the prisoner taken to the dungeons, Nat probably would have wanted to get started right then and there, and been perfectly fine with it, torturing her right in front of the entire inquisition."

The Inquisitor sighed.

"What am I going to do with her?" he asked.

Kurtz nodded grimly, he had spent enough time in the company of House Trevelyan to know Nat's less than… _endearing_ qualities. Nicholai did not hold that against her, but he had hoped, with everything that had happened, that his sister had started to grow beyond her base desires, that she had come to understand that she did not simply have free reign to hurt whoever she wanted.

"There is no cure for being a bitch, I'm afraid," the sell sword said.

The Inquisitor glared at him.

"This is "my sister" we are talking about. You do remember that, yes?"

"Sure," the other man said, "But that does not change what she is. I probably heard more about her than you did lad. I doubt she told you everything during her little visits to the Circle. Song's no innocent maiden, and she probably never will be. It would be wise of you to accept that."

Nicholai's eyes narrowed, he did not want to agree with his old comrade. Yet, he was too much of a realist to reject it outright.

Nat enjoyed her work, loved it, and despite what her big brother might say, was very good at it.

He feared it was scarring her soul. He had hoped to find her a better life, but…

Maybe it was already too late for that. Perhaps…

Nicholai frowned.

No.

He would not accept defeat.

He would not give up trying to save her, of course, that did not mean that she _**wanted**_ to be saved did.

He was likely wasting his time, but, then again, what choice did he have? Nat was still his sister.

He would not give up on her, no matter what she had done, or how much she might enjoy it.

"As much as I enjoy talking about beautiful women, lad," Kurtz said, "Perhaps we should turn our attention back to Orlais. We are going to be invading the empire soon, aren't we?"

"I would not call it _invading,_ " Nicholai replied, "More like…offering military aid without the empire's consent. Not that there is any clear leader to ask for permission right now. From what Leliana and Josephine have told me, the Empire is one big bag of angry cats."

"Never really liked doing any kind of business in Orlais," Kurtz admitted, "A poncey empire filled with even poncey-er chevaliers. Whole place was a pain, made it almost impossible for a man to turn a decent profit."

"Yet it must be saved, or at the very least made secure," Nicholai said, "If you had seen what I saw at Redcliffe, you would understand why it is imperative that Empress Celene doesn't die."

"Can't really say if that really matters or not boss," Kurtz replied, "You just have to make sure that there is a clear winner between the royals in Orlais, whether it is Celene or one of her enemies doesn't really matter, you just need a strong hand on the reins."

The older man leaned back looking into the fire, almost as if he was seeking something from the flames.

"This Grand Duke is a warrior at least. If you are fighting a war, perhaps it is best to have a warrior at your back, not just some woman in a fancy mask."

"True," Nicholai agreed, "But from what I hear about this Grand Duke Gaspard, he is not the type to leave us all in peace when the dust finally starts to settle. If I aid someone who suddenly decides to go to war with Ferelden and Nevarra when the dust is only just starting to settle, that makes me as much to blame as it does him. Celene may be some "woman in a fancy mask," but that does not take away from the fact that she has been a strong supporter of peace. She could have attacked Ferelden after the Blight, but she didn't, and she has kept the warmongers in her empire in line. Held the whole sorry mess together with her will, that is impressive."

Nicholai shrugged.

"I don't see having her as an ally as a bad thing."

Kurtz shrugged again.

"It is all up to you, lad," he said, "Guess that what it means when you sit in the big chair." Kurtz gestured to the chair on the dais, the one that Nicholai sat in when the Inquisitor held court.

"What happens next is your call."

"I know," the mage said with a tired sigh.

"I know."

Nicholai was about to take his leave then, to head upstairs and try to get some rest. Morning would come soon enough after all, and with it a hundred and one problems that came from trying to hold Thedas together.

That is when the door opened, that is when Varric made his way inside, dressed as if for battle, his expression serious.

"Evening Boss," he called out, "Kurtz."

"Dwarf," the sell sword nodded.

"Varric," the inquisitor answered, "What are you still doing up?"

The dwarf shifted slightly, he looked down, his expression, a bit nervous.

"Had to check out something on the battlements," he said, "Something I think you are gonna want to see, boss."

Nicholai's brow furrowed.

"Something," he asked, "Or someone?"

Varric winced.

"Someone," he replied.

Nicholai sat up, his attention now fully on the dwarf.

"Your friend is here?"

Varric nodded.

"She didn't think it was smart just to come walking into the main hall. Things are tense enough around here."

Nicholai nodded.

He understood what Varric was saying. He had a fairly good idea who this friend of Varric's was, and if it was who he thought it was.

"Tell, on a scale of one to ten, how pissed is Cassandra going to be at you over this?"

"If I had to guess boss, maybe fifteen, maybe as high as nineteen."

Varric sighed.

"I want to go on record right now; I take care of my friends, Inquisitor, especially, when the powers that be are about to come down on them like a war hammer."

The dwarf's eyes narrowed.

"I told the Seeker what she wanted to hear, what she needed to hear. Anything else I might have said, I did to make sure that…my friend did not suffer."

Nicholai sighed heavily.

 _Like things were not awkward enough between him and Cassandra right now._

 _Varric had dump even more shit on him._

"Let's go meet your friend," he said, "I've been hoping to get to talk to her, for a long time."

Varric gave him a sheepish grin.

"Trust me boss, you are going to want to hear what she has to say."

"Need some back up lad?" Kurtz offered.

"I don't think that will be necessary, maybe when I try to tell Cassandra about this tomorrow.

Nicholai chuckled nervously.

"When I tell her about this, I might just need another blade in front of me."

"Sorry about this boss," Varric said, "But I didn't see any other way, not after Haven."

Nicholai fell in step beside Varric as they made their way to the battlements. As they passed the armory he looked up the second floor, the room where Cassandra slept.

The lights were all off; hopefully the lovely seeker was sleeping peacefully right now.

He suspected that she would not be so peaceful when she heard about Varric's friend.

"How much does she know?" he asked the dwarf.

"Enough to peak her interest," he said, "Enough to get to come and try to help."

Varric led the way, as Nicholai followed behind him. He could just make out a shadow on the ramparts, a figure hooded and cloaked.

Here we go, the inquisitor thought to himself.

If everything Nat had told him about this person was true, then she was a longtime ally of House Trevelyan, and a good friend to his father, almost a surrogate daughter.

Hopefully she would be more understanding than Bann Pieter was right now.

He put on his most winning smile, hoping to make a good impression.

The Inquisitor stepped up onto the ramparts.

It was time to meet a friend of the family.


End file.
